21 Ways To Hint That You Like Someone
by Klyntaliah
Summary: When Clint finally recognizes his feelings for Natasha, he isn't sure how to tell her. So he turns to a "trustworthy" source: An internet article. Clintasha, T for suggestive elements and mild language.
1. Step 1

**If there's anything I've learned from writing fanfiction, it is this:**

 _ **Once You Get Inspired To Write A Fic, Start Immediately.**_

 **So many times I've come up with a storyline, but I put off starting it, and now I'm just not motivated to write it anymore.**

 **So when I got the inspiration for this fic, I started typing it up right away, despite the fact that I'm neck-deep in at least three other fics at the moment. Hence, updates for this story promise to be rather sporadic, but I do intend to work as consistently as possible.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Well, he was screwed now.

Clint Barton lay on the untidy floor of his bedroom, staring up at the ceiling. His hands were tucked beneath his head, and he was frowning and muttering to himself as he kicked accusingly at the door.

He was in love with Natasha Romanoff. The realization had just struck him, not five minutes earlier, and now he was reduced to a scowling, grumbling, door-kicking, emotional noodle of pure, unadulterated crap, stretched across the stained carpet and contemplating life. And, more specifically, contemplating his newly-discovered feelings.

And, even more specifically, contemplating what Fury would say if he knew that one of the best partnerships in the history of SHIELD was in danger of going bye-bye all because a certain incompetent archer had gone head-over-heels for one sarcastic, lethal, smirking redhead.

Shucks.

A spider crawled out from underneath a nearby pile of laundry and looked quizzically at Clint. Clint stared narrowly back.

"What're you looking at?" he demanded.

The spider didn't reply.

"Scram!" Clint made a swishing motion with his fist, and the arachnid scuttled back toward the pile.

"Hey, if you see Natasha, tell her I say Thanks Alot," Clint called.

 _I'm talking to a bug._

The creature had vanished, so Clint went back to admiring the ceiling and meditating on his pitiful existence.

A relationship between them would never work (between him and Natasha, not the spider). Even if SHIELD protocol somehow allowed it, there was no way she felt the same way.

Or was there?

Of course there wasn't!

Was there?

Clint sat up.

 _Think logically about this, dude. The only way you can know if she likes you is if you ask her._

Clint shuddered.

Oh, there was no way he was going to ask her.

He would rather take on a closetful of poisonous spiders, blindfolded. Or jump off a cliff into a lagoon full of crocodiles. Or sneak up behind Fury and take off his eyepatch.

(Well, actually, that last one required further thought.)

But… _was_ there any chance she liked him back?

Only one way to know for certain…

With a few muffled curses, Clint heaved himself to his feet. He trudged across the floor towards his bed and flopped down on the rumpled bedclothes in front of his open laptop. A quick scribble of his fingertip across the keypad was all it took to light up the screen. He opened up a webpage and clicked the searchbar.

Google search results for: _how to tell a girl you like her without actually telling her?_

The first link was for an article with a promising title:

21 Ways To Hint That You Like Someone

The first bit was just a random paragraph about how it can be hard to work up the courage to approach someone about your feelings, blah blah blah. Clint scrolled past it till he got to Step 1:

1.) Text them. Not just to make plans, but just because.

Clint looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling and rubbed absently at the stubble on his chin. Well, that sounded easy enough. His phone was sitting on his bedside table a short distance away. He eyed it doubtfully for a minute, then reached over and snagged it. He pulled up his messaging and, without giving himself time to change his mind, his thumbs danced quickly across the keypad, composing a short message:

 _[15:26, sent]_ Hey whats up?

He stared at the message until the minute text beneath the blue bubble informed him that his text had been delivered. Then he turned off his phone and laid back onto his mattress, closing his eyes.

His phone vibrated against his leg.

His eyes shot open and he sat up. He caught a glimpse of his screen just as a new message blinked to black. Hurriedly, he switched his phone on and read the text:

 _[15:27, Nat]_ I'm at home. What's the problem?

Clint frowned. ' _Problem'?_ He hastened to reply:

 _[15:27, sent]_ What? There's no problem

Her response came quickly:

 _[15:28, Nat]_ Then why are you texting me?

Clint took a deep breath and dragged his hand through his hair, slightly irritated. Damn Nat – she could always tell when something was off.

 _[15:29, sent]_ Just checking in is all

Several long minutes ticked by before she finally answered:

 _[15:31, Nat]_ Hey seriously what's up? Do you need me to come over?

Clint ground his teeth.

 _[15:32, sent]_ No! I already told you nothings wrong

A few more tense minutes passed before her reply came in:

 _[15:33, Nat]_ Barton, you never text me for no reason

Clint was more than ready to argue with her on that point, but he realized, with a twinge of embarrassment, that she was right. He had barely reached this conclusion when another text came in:

 _[15:33, Nat]_ If you're being held at gunpoint, give me our code word

Clint groaned and buried his face in his hands.

 _[15:34, sent]_ No, I'm serious, everything's okay. I'm literally just checking in

There was another moment of inactivity before she replied:

 _[15:36, Nat]_ Ok if everything's fine then I have to get back. Prepping for tomorrow

 _[15:37, sent]_ Tomorrow?

 _[15:37, Nat]_ We have that undercover job?

Clint groaned again. Right – that op Fury had put them on… There was some juvie offender who had been in SHIELD's custody about six months prior. He had been assigned to mandatory community service now, and Fury wanted to be sure he was staying within the parameters of the law. It was really more Natasha's job – simple surveillance op; all she had to do was pose as a volunteer and stick around with the team for a couple hours. Clint was really only going along as a formality, since they were (that word again) a team.

 _[15:39, Nat]_ You're still coming right?

 _[15:39, sent]_ Yeah totally. See you then?

 _[15:40, Nat]_ Bye

Clint flopped back onto his pillows again and resumed his vigil of the ceiling. Well, it hadn't been a _total_ failure. He had at least talked sociably to her, after all. Maybe that dumb list thing wasn't such a bad idea. He sat up and looked at his computer screen again, scrolling down to look at Step 2.


	2. Step 2

**I'm so glad you guys like this story so far! I wasn't planning on having the next chapter ready so soon, but I was thinking about it last night and I was able to get enough material to start right in. Plus, your guys' reviews inspired me to keep at it. xD**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

2.) Dress up a little when you know you're going to see them.

(Good, another easy one.)

Clint stood in front of his full length mirror, buttoning up a blue Diesel shirt over his dark wash Levi's. Today was the undercover op downtown… well, it didn't really _feel_ like an op. All they had to do was hang out and help a community service team for a little while, keep an eye on the juvie, Karl Dawson, and leave whenever they felt like it. He wasn't even bringing his bow. (Bummer.)

Clint secured the top button of his shirt and turned down his collar. He rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows and ran a hand through his hair to stick it up in the front.

There.

His text alert went off as he slipped on his gold wristwatch:

 _[13:04, Nat]_ Going in

Clint groaned and clapped a hand to his forehead. _Nice job, buddy, really well done._ In his endeavors to make himself presentable (which involved showering, shaving, and finding a nice outfit that was actually _clean)_ , he had lost track of time. He and Nat had already planned to arrive separately to reduce their chances of being recognized, but they hadn't planned on arriving _this_ separately. If he left now, he'd be fifteen minutes late.

Cursing under his breath, he rummaged through his closet till he found a pair of black Chucks that actually weren't muddy, then ran out the door.

…

The community service team was at a local farm outside of the city. Clint parked alongside the rows of cars that were marching across an empty asphalt lot, then got out of his car—

And _wow,_ was it hot.

 _Well, this is August, idiot,_ he reminded himself, tugging uncomfortably at his collar.

So maybe… this wasn't the best day to dress up?

Clint pushed these thoughts aside and jogged towards a small crop field that was sprinkled with people.

A woman with a clipboard was standing near the field, and Clint approached her. "Hey, sorry I'm late," he apologized, stopping in front of her. (He subconsciously scanned the field for Natasha.)

The woman looked up at him and frowned. Her gaze slid over his semi-casual attire and he quailed a little, knowing what she was thinking:

 _Does this idiot think he's going to work in that getup?_

Same, lady, same.

"Are you here with volunteer team?" she asked doubtfully.

"Uh, yep." He tried to sound confident. _Way to keep a low profile, dude. You're on an undercover op and you dress like you wanna be sponsored by Ralph Lauren. Nice play._

(Fortunately, this project was hilariously low-risk, so he wasn't too concerned… just self-conscious.)

The woman glanced at her clipboard. "And you are?"

 _Wait, what false name did Natasha give you again? What is it, dammit, THINK!_

"Dylan Pierce," he remembered with relief. _Nice save._ (He glanced toward the field again, straining his eyes for a glimpse of red hair. Wait, hang on, there—!)

"Dylan Pierce. Here you go." The woman peeled off a sticker with his pseudonym printed on it and handed it to him. "Get weeding."

Weeding?

Oh, of course.

Because what else would they be doing the day he wears his only pair of designer jeans on a mission?

(Dammit.)

Clint stumbled toward the field, slapping his name tag onto his breast pocket. (The fact that he even _had_ a breast pocket to stick it on was kind of depressing, under the circumstances. The circumstances being, he's literally going to be kneeling in mud for who-knows-how-long.) He wandered into the first row of knee-high plants and squatted down. He stared at the ground for a minute, then surreptitiously glanced around for Natasha—

And _wow,_ he stuck out. He stuck out like a zebra in a pasture full of donkeys. Or a pig in a pasture full of llamas. Or a Clint in a pasture full of dirty, moderately-dressed people, none of whom looked like a mannequin in the Menswear section of Macy's.

(Crap.)

Everyone was dressed in ratty T-shirts, shorts, and dirty, scuffed tennis shoes, because they knew, unlike him, that they were going to be spending their day in a hot, weedy field that had probably been fertilized with manure once or twice. (Yuck.) Clint, on the other hand, seemed to have just stepped out of a Louis Vuitton magazine (Casual Men's Summerwear Edition.)

"Hey, handsome."

Clint's head jerked toward the familiar voice, and there, walking down the row towards him, was everyone's favorite pint-sized Russian assassin.

Clint's heart started to beat a little harder under his designer shirt. He hadn't seen her since…

Well, since he'd realized how he felt about her.

Her attire only served to make him even more aware of how absurd he looked. She was wearing fraying converse sneakers, little denim shorts, and a white graphic tee that was tied with an elastic over her hip. She had a baseball cap on over her hair, which was up in a ponytail, from which several curls had come loose. Her limbs and clothing were smudged with dirt, and she was sweaty, but grinning, and somehow, she still managed to look hot. It was like a talent of hers. Even when she was a mess, she still—

Hold up.

Did she call him… _handsome?_

Was she just teasing him or was Step Two actually… working?

"I'm late" was all he could think to say as she stopped next to him. There was a smear of dirt on her shin, and he itched to brush it off. (That probably wouldn't go over well.)

"I noticed," Natasha said playfully. She knelt down next to him and busied herself with pulling weeds. "I saw Dawson," she muttered under her breath.

Clint looked at her. "And?"

She continued vigorously weeding the earth. "He's doing alright. Looks like he may have finally turned over a new leaf. I was talking to his supervisor, and she said he's one of the best workers on the volunteer team." A red strand of hair fell in front of her eye, and she blew it away.

Clint nodded. "So… now what?"

"Gonna stick around here a little longer," she replied. "Fury's going to want all the intel he can get. It's best to maintain our cover for the time being."

"Copy that."

Natasha stood and brushed her hands off. "I'll see you. It's too bad you can't stick around." She threw him a disappointed glance and hastened back up the row.

 _'Can't stick around'?_ Clint frowned, puzzled. "Wait… what do you…" he began, but his partner was already out of earshot.

Did she know something he didn't? Did she think he had to leave early?

Or… was that her subtle way of telling him she didn't want him around?

 _Don't be stupid,_ he told himself.

But… was it?

Maybe she was annoyed with him for wasting her time texting her for no reason yesterday. She hadn't _seemed_ annoyed when she talked to him, but she was good at hiding what she felt. And if she _was_ annoyed with him, it didn't seem like she would show it by making passive-aggressive remarks at him. But why else would she have said that?

The afternoon was long and hot, and the work was tedious. The only way Clint could pass the time was by turning Natasha's parting comment over in his head, studying it from every direction, emphasizing each individual word: _It's too bad_ you _can't stick around… It's too bad you_ can't _stick around… It's too bad you can't stick_ around… Time dragged slowly by and he kept replaying the words in his head, but he was unable to figure out what she'd meant.

"Don't move."

Clint froze. He hadn't heard Natasha come up behind him. (He hoped he hadn't been talking to himself.)

"What?" he hissed.

"Shhh."

Clint felt Natasha's fingers tickle the center of his back, and he tensed. He could tell she was bending over him, but then she straightened, and her shadow fell off of him.

"Okay," she said lightly.

Clint stirred, and turned his head to squint up at her. "What…?"

"Beetle," she said briskly. "I just wanted to let you know, I'm thinking about heading out now. I think we've got everything we can."

Clint slowly got to his feet, wincing at the sight of the mud-caked knees of his expensive jeans. "Okay… do you think you have enough to give a report to Fury?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

Clint nodded back, trying to think of something else to say.

Natasha spoke again. "You have dirt here." She traced her finger under her eye, smirking.

Clint swiped halfheartedly at the spot. "You have dirt _here,"_ he returned teasingly, touching the corner of his mouth.

Natasha thumbed her mouth, laughing. "Well it doesn't matter what _I_ look like!"

"Me neither!" Clint replied, grinning.

Natasha stopped laughing. "Of course it does, dummy. You want to make a good impression." She stepped forward and brushed a clump of dirt off his shoulder.

Clint blinked. "Huh?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Well you're meeting those reps from ATCU, right?"

Suddenly it all made sense.

"Oh, wait, you mean—? _Ohhh."_ Clint laughed in relief. So she _wasn't_ pissed at him. "No, yeah, I was supposed to meet those guys for lunch today, but they cancelled on me. Yeah, that's off."

"Oh." Natasha frowned. "Well then why…" She gestured towards his outfit.

"Oh." Clint cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable again. He dropped his head and toed at the ground. _I dressed up because I was trying to impress you. Yeah, that sounds fantastic._ "Um… yeah. This is just… yeah. This is just for kicks."

There was an awkward silence.

"Hm," Natasha said finally. "Well, you look sharp."

Clint froze.

"Anyway, I think I should go," Natasha went on swiftly. "Don't leave the same time as me, wait a little. I'll see you." And she headed out of the row.

 _Okay. Step Two, total success._


	3. Step 3

**AHH I didn't mean for this chapter to be so freaking long! Or so dramatic! Or so angsty!**

 **I didn't even mean to have another chapter ready today at all, but here I am.**

 **Anyways, yeah, this chapter features lots of drama and angst, as well as a (slightly ooc?) Tony Stark.**

 **Enjoy...**

* * *

3.) Have a friend ask about you.

Clint had to read this step four times before he understood what it entailed: Ask a friend to approach the victim (i.e. the poor soul who you're trying to impress) and talk about you, preferably praising your heroic qualities and making you sound like you're some kind of god. This one sounded a little doubtful, but hey, the other ones had sounded kind of cheesy, and they'd all had good results (in a twisted, roundabout way).

(Besides, what Clint liked about _this_ step was that he wouldn't have to approach his partner directly – someone else would. These days whenever he interacted with her he tended to make a fool of himself. Or, more accurately, bring out the fool in himself.)

So… who should he put up to the daunting task of making Clint Barton sound like the kind of guy who donates his life savings to charity in his free time?

Steve, Tony, and Bruce were naturally the first people who came to mind. They were good sports, and they would probably help him out. And, unlike Thor, they weren't busy ruling on another planet.

But Clint hesitated to ask one of them. He wasn't sure if he wanted them to know about his feelings for Natasha yet. And he was even less sure he wanted them to know that he was using an article he'd found on Google to try to win her affection.

That left Maria and Pepper.

It probably wouldn't be a good idea to ask his boss for help in his love life. Pepper, on the other hand, would be perfect – she was approachable, discreet, eager to help… and out of town.  
(Shoot.)

He had a few acquaintances at SHIELD he could ask – but he didn't know any of them well, certainly not well enough to ask them for help with wooing the world's most deadly assassin.

Which brought him back to Square One, i.e., Steve, Tony, or Bruce.

Bruce was the obvious choice. He was smart, tactful, and could probably bring up the subject without seeming suspicious. But then Clint remembered that Fury had asked him to run some tests on an alien substance for a case. He was sure to be swamped, and Clint didn't want to bother him.

That left him with two rather unfavorable options.

Steve was diplomatic, but deception was not his forte, and he was ridiculously easy for Natasha to get a read on. He would probably end up getting flustered and telling her everything, which was the last thing Clint wanted.

Tony, on the other hand… well, he was sometimes indiscreet, but he was more cocky around women, and would most likely be able to keep his head. With some trepidation, Clint retrieved his phone and called Tony's number.

"Hey, Birdboy."

"Stark," Clint greeted. He paused uncertainly "I need to ask you a favor."

"Full steam ahead, Legolas."

Clint hesitated, unsure how to shape his request. "Uhh… I wanna ask you something."

"Yeah, so you said. What's up?"

Clint grabbed a fistful of his hair. "I, uh… just need you to do something for me."

"You're killing me, Birdboy," Tony said. "If you're trying to ask me out, I already have a girlfriend, and we're very happy—"

"Cut the crap, Stark," Clint growled. "Look, I just need you to do something for me. Are you seeing Natasha today?"

"Yeah, our paths will cross."

"Okay… good. So, um…" Clint rubbed his eyes. "Can you talk to her for me?"

"Sure thing, Robin Hood. What's the message?"

"Uh... nothing. Just, like, talk about me..."

"Talk about you? You mean like, just, tell her stuff about you behind your back? Because I do that already all the time."

"Wh— No, I mean like, well, kind of. Just… try to make me look good…" Clint dragged a hand through his hair, disgusted at how pathetic it sounded.

"God, I'll try but that sounds hard. Just kidding! Yeah, I'll do it. What for?"

"Um…" Clint licked his lips uncomfortably. "No reason. Just as a favor."

"Are you trying to get her to ask you out or something?"

"What? No! Well… kind of… no, not really. I just—"

"Are you trying to impress her?"

Finally, Clint sighed in defeat. "Well, yes… kind of. But this stays between us, you got that?"

"Oh, you can count on me, Romeo. I'll swoop right in and talk you up so good she'll think you turned into an angel overnight. Talk to you later, Cupid."

"Okay, that's—"

"See you."

Tony hung up.

Clint exhaled slowly and turned off his phone. This was good, right? Tony wouldn't screw up, would he?

Would he…?

(Oh, gosh.)

…

Several hours later, Clint was sitting in his living room when he received a text from Tony:

 _[16:11, Stark]_ You're welcome

Clint let out a breath of relief.

 _[16:12, sent]_ You did it?

 _[16:12, Stark]_ You betcha.

 _[16:12, sent]_ Thanks so much, man

 _[16:12, Stark]_ No problem.

Clint was about to ask Tony how it went when another text came in:

 _[16:13, Stark]_ There's just one little thing.

Clint's heartrate spiked. _Oh, no._

 _[16:14, sent]_ Stark? What happened?

 _[16:14, Stark]_ You may or may not have an angry Russian assassin headed for your establishment as we speak.

Clint sucked in his breath and jumped to his feet

 _[16:14, sent]_ Stark! WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED

 _[16:14, Stark]_ I'm sorry, loverboy! I didn't know she would get so mad about it!

 _[16:14, sent]_ WHAT DID YOU TELL HER

Clint heard a car pull up in front of his apartment. He hurried to the window just in time to see Natasha leap out of her car and go sprinting into the building.

Boy, she looked mad.

 _[16:16, sent]_ STARK! IM GOING TO KILL YOU

Clint heard footsteps running down the hall towards his door. Cursing, he threw his phone onto the table and put a wide gap between himself and the door. He had just enough time to wonder how many weapons his partner had on her when she burst into the room.

For a second, she just stood in the doorway, glaring at him. Clint raised his hands as a nonthreatening gesture. "Whoa! Nat, what's going on?"

Natasha glowered at him. She muttered something that sounded like "damn you" and began stalking towards him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on just a second!" Clint stumbled away from her till he bumped into the wall. "I'm sure this is all just some misunderstan—"

She threw her arms around him.

Clint froze, shock washing over him. Was she… _hugging_ him…?

She was.

Her arms had slipped between his back and the wall, and he could feel her fingers clutching the material of his shirt as she buried her face in his chest. Her heart was pounding wildly against his torso, but she felt so warm and soft and cuddly (now there was a word he never thought he'd associate with her).

Clint stood still, limp with disbelief as she pressed her nose deeper into his chest. Somewhere in his mind, it registered that he should be hugging her back, but he couldn't remember that she'd ever hugged him before, and he was afraid if he moved it would scare her off.

Too soon, she drew away, scowling up at him.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?" she demanded. She slammed her palms into his chest, and his head knocked the wall. _This_ was more like the Natasha Romanoff he was used to.

"What, was that supposed to be _funny?_ Was it some kind of _joke?"_ she snarled. She was breathing hard, her eyes were blazing, and her red curls curtained the sides of her face.

She looked so angry and beautiful all at once, and her face was so close to his that it took him several confused, captivated seconds to reply.

Finally, he managed to articulate an adequate response:

"Huh?"

"You and Stark were in it together, weren't you," Natasha growled. "You set me up for a sick, twisted prank, well guess what, Barton!" She jabbed her forefinger into his sternum. _"It wasn't funny!"_

Clint swallowed.

"Nat," he said faintly. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
"The hell you don't!" she snapped. "I actually _believed_ him, you know? So go ahead and gloat, because guess what, you got me! You succeeded with your stupid, immature…" She went on to dub his so-called "prank" with several other degrading terms that Fury had probably taught her.

"Nat," Clint broke in. "Believe me, I don't know what Stark told you. He was probably just messing with you." (He was about to add "I had nothing to do with it", but he stopped himself in the interest of honesty.)

Natasha quieted. She narrowed her eyes, searching his face.

"You really don't know?" she asked finally.

"I really don't," Clint replied. "Why don't you tell me what's going on."

Natasha just stared at him for a minute. Then she sighed and backed slowly away from him. She moved to the couch and plopped down in one corner of it. She lowered her head and buried her face in her hands.

Tentatively, Clint edged over and sat down on the opposite side of the couch. He watched his partner closely and saw that she was shaking a little, though from anger or something else, he wasn't sure.

He started to reach towards her, to pat her arm or maybe her back, but he stopped himself. She was probably still mad at him for whatever it was he was supposed to have done, and just because she had hugged him once, that didn't mean she wanted his hands on her when she was pissed at him.

Natasha lifted her head, glaring at the wall. "Have you heard of the HYDRA uprisings that have been going on lately?"

"Uhh…" Clint shifted slightly on the couch. What did this have to do with him and Tony again? "Yes? Maybe? I don't know. Why?"

Natasha sighed. "We've been getting reports lately of growing attacks on SHIELD agents. It's all Fury talks about. HYDRA's behind it, so he keeps talking about sending us on an undercover op to figure out what their game is."

Clint hesitated. "Um… okay?"

Natasha pulled her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. "Today, I was getting ready to leave work when Stark came running up to me and told me that you'd been attacked."

"Oh, god." Clint covered his face with his hands.

"He said he was at your place and these guys broke in and jumped you. He said he'd come to the base to get help. He was all out of breath when he told me, and I didn't think to question his story. I didn't even think to bring backup. I just got here as fast as I could."

Clint ran his fingers through his hair. _Nice job, Tony. Yeah, sure, scare the hell out of her, that'll get her thinking about me. Geez._

"He made it out like they were cutting you to pieces. I thought you'd be dead by the time I got here," Natasha went on, her voice calm and even. "The whole time I was thinking, 'why didn't I think of this before, of course they would target Clint, he's one of the most skilled SHIELD agents there is, I could've stopped this. I should've warned him.'"

Clint swallowed again.

"So when I got here and saw you were okay, I just—" Natasha broke off and turned suddenly to face him. "Why the hell would Stark tell me that?" she snapped. "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill that man.

Clint sighed heavily. "Not if I kill him first." He got up and moved to the table where he'd left his phone. He called Tony's number and lifted the phone to his ear.

Tony answered with, "I'm sorry, Birdbrain, I wasn't trying to get you killed."

"You told Natasha I was attacked by HYDRA?" Clint demanded.

Tony sighed. "Look, Robin Hood, I can explain."  
 _"Why the hell would you do that!"_ Clint exploded. "You seriously freaked her out! You better have an insanely good explanation for this, Tin Man!"

"I wish I did," Tony said meekly. "When I got to the base, she was just about to leave, so I had to run to catch up with her. She asked me why I was running, and I didn't want to tell her about _the mission,_ so I just said the first thing that came to mind."

"The first thing that came to mind was that I had been attacked by HYDRA and you were running to get help?" Clint snapped.

"Actually, I think I just mumbled something about HYDRA being after me. Which was the first thing that came to mind. She got interested and started asking me questions about it, and I remembered I was supposed to talk about you, so I just kind of, like, incorporated you into the whole saga. I thought it was kind of genius, actually."

"You were wrong," Clint growled.

"Well it all happened so fast!" Tony defended himself. "She's so hot and scary, and I was just really confused and sweaty, and before I knew it, she was yelling at me for leaving you behind, and then running out of the base! I couldn't stop her!"

Clint sighed and dragged a hand across his face. "You know what… just forget it. Just… I'd try to stay out of her way for a while, if you're interested in keeping all your body parts intact."

"Noted," Tony stammered, and he hung up.

Clint set his phone down and looked at Natasha. She was tucked into the corner of the couch with her arms crossed, frowning as she watched him.

Clint exhaled and moved back to the couch. "You okay?"

She sighed. "Yeah," she said. "I'm fine." Slowly, she got to her feet. "I'm gonna go home now."

"Okay," Clint said. "Sorry about all this."

She shrugged. "It's okay. Tony's a jerk."

"Yeah, he can be," Clint mused as she headed towards the door.

Natasha stopped in the doorway and turned to look at him. "Watch your back, Barton," she said quietly.

She left.


	4. Step 4

**FIRST OF ALL YES I AM AWARE THAT THIS IS HORRIBLY CRAPPY WRITING AND I APOLOGIZE XD**

 **Not much happens here... it's almost like a filler. BUT I can promise better chapters to come! :)**

 **Try and enjoy it if you possibly can x)**

* * *

After the whole "HYDRA attack" fiasco, Clint almost didn't open the Google article again. He didn't want to do anything that would terrorize Nat; quite the opposite.

But then it occurred to him that maybe the reason it had gone wrong was because he had got someone else involved, so the situation had got out of his control. Maybe he could just skip any steps that involved asking other people for help.

Besides, the next step was:

4.) Be genuinely delighted every time you see them — make no effort to hide it.

– and Clint couldn't think of any way that could go wrong.

(He almost cracked his wooden tabletop from knocking on it after he had that particular thought.)

Fury had called a meeting for eleven o'clock that morning – probably something about those undercover ops Natasha had mentioned, if Clint had to guess. A mission was welcome; Clint hadn't had an op in several weeks, not counting the weeding job (which had not been so much a mission as a Total Embarrassment on his part). So after breakfast, Clint headed down to the base. He arrived a little early, because the cafeteria at HQ was open, and he figured he'd grab a cup of coffee before he headed to the meeting. (He'd already had several cups at home, but the day Clint Barton turned down free coffee was the day he died.)

When he entered the cafeteria, Clint's gaze was immediately caught by a familiar shade of red. Natasha was standing next to the coffee machine, chatting with a Level Six (Agent… Mayer?) and sipping from a steaming mug. Clint's steps slowed. He hadn't figured on seeing her right away, he'd imagined he wouldn't see her till they got to the conference room. But hey, he was flexible.

Clint sauntered over to the coffee machine. Natasha's back was to him, but Mayer's eyes landed on him, and he nodded politely. Clint nodded back, as Natasha turned to look at him.

Show time.

"Heyyy Nat, how's it going!" Clint let a huge grin claim his face as he gazed at the redhead. "How've you been, partner? It's so great to see you!"

(So it wasn't really an act – more like the way he felt like greeting her every time he saw her, an urge which he usually trampled down in the interest of "looking cool.")

Natasha blinked. "Oh, um… hi."

 _Am I coming on too strong?_

 _…Wait, isn't that kind of the point of Step Four?_

Clint grabbed a mug from the counter and started filling it with coffee. "Looking forward to the meeting later?" he went on brightly.

Natasha's brow furrowed slightly, and Clint's smile grew wider. She did look really cute when she was confused… and all the time.

"Ummm… no," Natasha said finally. "Not really." She started to turn back to Mayer.

"Okay, well I'll see you then!" Clint added.

Natasha glanced back at him, and gave him a puzzled smile as she looked him up and down. "Okay… bye."

"See you!" Clint headed away from the coffee machine, rather pleased with himself

 _So that went pretty well. I mean, yeah, she looked more confused than a bald eagle in a hair salon, but hopefully she got the hint. Or, at least, got_ some _kind of hint. Of some sort._

(Yeesh.)

Natasha left the cafeteria shortly afterward, but Clint hung around for several refills of coffee (he'd had enough caffeine to keep him awake throughout the meeting, regardless of length, so that was a plus). When eleven o'clock rolled around, he headed down to the conference room for the meeting.

When he opened the door, he found that Natasha was already there.

 _Well… it did say_ every time _you see them, didn't it?_

"Heyyy Nat, it's great to see you!" Clint said cheerfully.

Natasha looked up from the file she was reading, and she frowned slightly. "Didn't you just see me?"

"Yep! But it's great to see you again," Clint said breezily.

 _I sound like an idiot, don't I…_

A quizzical smile crept across Natasha's face. "Okay…"

She returned to her file as Clint strode forward and slid into the seat across from her. "So, how've you been?" he asked enthusiastically.

Natasha looked up abruptly. "Look, Barton," she said seriously. She leaned across the table towards him. "If you're trying to make it up to me about yesterday… don't worry about it. I really am fine, okay?"

"No – that's not—" Clint stopped himself. "I mean – I'm just happy to see you."

Natasha raised an eyebrow in amusement, and he could tell she wasn't buying it.

"Really, I'm over it," she told him again. "I'm just – I'm glad you're okay."

She looked down at her file again, and Clint fell silent. _I'm glad you're okay…_ well, it wasn't a declaration of love or anything, but maybe, just _maybe…_ it could be considered _progress…?_

Fury entered the room a few minutes later, and wasted no time in getting straight to the point.

"I'm sure you're both aware of the HYDRA uprisings we've had lately?" he began briskly.

"Yes, sir."

 _You could say that._

Fury nodded, crossing his arms. "Based on the details of these attacks, it's my professional opinion that this is a temporary situation, and the movement will die down quickly. However, we received a tip about a HYDRA agent who was seen in the area, and in light of these attacks, I thought it was best to follow up, even though the intel is sketchy.

"Because of the source, it's highly possible that the intel is false. However, if that's the case, you'll still be expected to hang around the party for a while in order to maintain your cover."

Clint cleared his throat. "Um. Party?"

Fury looked at him. "Yes, Agent Barton. Party."

(Yay.)

Natasha shot him an amused look, almost as though she'd read his thoughts.

"According to our intel, the target will be undercover at a charity party tomorrow evening. You two are going to be undercover, and we're securing your invitations so you have an in. Should the target be present, your job is to lure him to a secluded area, and take him down."

 _'Lure him to a secluded area'… So, in other words, Nat's doing her seductress routine._

 _Oh, goody._

"Who is the alleged intended target," Natasha asked evenly. She had undoubtedly caught onto Fury's implied meaning, but her face and voice held none of the displeasure she was definitely feeling.

"Alrik Weber," Fury replied.

 _Oh, shoot. Not that douchebag…_

"The only photograph we have on file is taken from the back, so it won't be helpful," Fury added. "However, Agent Barton has crossed paths with Weber before, so I think we can count on you to recognize him?" He turned to Clint.

"Yes, sir," Clint said earnestly. _It's hard to forget a face that looks like a dehydrated guinea pig that was hit by a steamroller._

"One more thing," Fury said. "This mission is going to be very up close and personal, so comms are too much of a liability. You'll have to do what you can without them."

 _A mission where we can't use comms, and Nat doesn't even know what the target looks like?_

 _Game on._

* * *

 **Sorry if that was really terrible! Dx I always plot my fics out before I start writing them, but I'm totally making this one up as I go along so I'm as surprised as you are to see the direction the story is taking. xD**

 **Oh also, heads-up: I've surprised myself by getting out chapters every day so far, but that probably won't happen tomorrow. I'm babysitting my 2yo cousin for a day or two so I'm not going to have much free time. x)**

 **Thank you all so much for the follows/favorites/reviews though! :D This story is really starting to take off, and I'm excited to see where it goes! :)**


	5. Step 5

**I'm baaack! XD**

 **I think this chapter's a little better than the last one - well, that's my opinion. You can form your own. :D**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

It was close to ten pm when STRIKE: Team Delta arrived at Weber's alleged location. It was in a tall building in town, a space that whatever-charity-club-it-even-was had rented out for the evening. Cars lined the streets around the structure, but Clint and Natasha were able to find a parking spot that wasn't too far away.

As soon as Clint parked the car, they both began double-checking their weapons.

"Remember, I've never seen Weber before," Natasha said. _(Lucky you,_ Clint thought.) "We'll have to go in separately: you go in first and scout around to see if he's there. Once you locate him, you'll have to give me some kind of signal since we don't have comms. Then I'll do my thing."

Clint nodded distractedly. He couldn't help noticing how Natasha looked in that pale orange, sequin-y dress, which was sleeveless and form-fitting. Her hair was lightly curled, her eyes looked all sparkly, her lips were so red…

She had been looking down, loading her pistol, but suddenly she looked right at him, and his heart jumped.

He swallowed.

Natasha raised her eyebrows, like she was waiting for him to speak.

Clint cleared his throat. "What."

Natasha squinted her eyes at him. "I asked you a question."

Clint blinked. "You – you did? Oh! – Uh… I guess I missed it." _Yeah, there you go, just keep on gawking at her till your eyes fall out. Way to be creepy, dumbass._

Natasha dropped her head again, holstering her pistol. "Fury said if Weber doesn't show, we need to stick around for a little while anyway, so we don't cause suspicion. I asked how long you thought we should stay."

"Oh." Clint thought about it. "How does half an hour sound?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Okey doke. Well, I'm heading in," Clint said. _Before I make an idiot of myself... again._ He stepped out of the car.  
"Good luck," Natasha said, just before he closed the door.

The night was warm and humid, and Clint tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his tux as he made his way towards the building. _Who even invented tuxes? Whoever it was, I have a serious bone to pick with them…_

He stepped into the building, and found himself in a blissfully cool lobby. Yellowish light, laughter, and music issued through the door of the room beyond. Clint handed over his (perfectly forged) invitation, and stepped into the main room.

It was warmer in this area (dammit). It was filled with well-dressed people, some of them eating, some laughing, some chatting, some forming couples on the dance floor, swaying to the gentle piano music. Several tables were scattered around the room, and Clint ducked around a few waiters carrying trays of food as he began to analyze his surroundings.

 _Time to use those Hawk Eyes to find Weber._

Clint started walking slowly around the room, blending in well with the other dozens of people who meandered the floor. His sharp eyes looked at every face, searching for their target.

There was a man standing alone by the wall – but no, his face in no way resembled a dehydrated guinea pig. There was man sitting at a table, surrounded by giggling girls – but no; even as a heterosexual male, Clint had to admit that he was surprisingly attractive (all the women at the party seemed to have noticed it too). To call Weber attractive would be on par with calling Fury a nice, fluffy bunny rabbit.

There was another man standing alone by the wall – but no, his face looked more like a sassy gorilla. No steamrollered guinea pigs yet.

He had almost completed his circle around the room when he spotted Natasha. She had entered the building and was sitting in a chair near the bar. As soon as he saw her, Clint quickly looked away. Not only would looking at her distract him, but he also didn't feel like watching the men sitting nearby start hitting on her, as they were certain to.  
 _Dammit, Nat, why do you have to be so hot? You couldn't have worn like a pillowcase or something?_

Clint finally completed his circle of the room, and he was forced to conclude that Weber wasn't there. Must have been bad intel. Clint was slightly relieved – he hadn't exactly been looking forward to seeing Weber. But he was also a little annoyed, because if HYDRA had planted false intel, that probably meant that they were trying to get SHIELD occupied while they made a move somewhere else. Still, knowing that couldn't help anything. Clint had to content himself with the knowledge that SHIELD had hundreds of other agents on call if something were to come up, and just try to relax and enjoy the party. They were going to be here for a while.

Clint sat down at a table across the room. He wished he could chat with Natasha to pass the time, but their covers weren't supposed to know each other, so it might look suspicious if they sat whispering in the corner. Maybe he'd go up and "introduce" himself later.

Unoccupied, Clint's mind moved vacantly to his attempts to win Natasha over. Or whatever his lame attempts should be called. He was ready to move onto step five:

5.) Make eye contact from across the room at parties; smile.

– but his problem was, he didn't have any parties to go to. Well, it didn't _necessarily_ have to be a party, he supposed, but he'd been trying to follow each step as closely as possible. List said party, he'd stick with party.

Sometimes Stark would up and throw a random party, but Clint didn't want to rely on that. He was halfway to throwing a party himself, even though his apartment was tiny and he was a sucky host. Dangit, why wouldn't someone just invite him to a—

Wait a minute.

Where was he.

 _Right. Now._

 _Full marks, Barton. Didn't realize you were at a party till you'd been there for ten minutes. You win the Blatant Stupidity award. Sheesh._

 _Well, there's no time like the present._

Clint looked at Natasha. She was glancing around the room, looking bored. She was probably sick of waiting around for no reason and wanted to go home. Clint kept watching her, trying to figure out how to catch her eye, when she looked right at him.

Clint blinked in surprise. Then grinned.

Natasha looked at him for a second. Then a small smirk grew at the corner of her mouth, and Clint's grin widened. He held her gaze for a moment longer, then looked away.

So, that actually went surprisingly well. At least – well, he didn't know what she was thinking right now. She might be thinking that he was really creepy and weird. But she _had_ smiled back, and _maybe,_ just maybe, she had gotten the hint that he was interested.

So… now what?

Clint was bored again.

He detachedly watched the hot guy across the room, the one who was getting all the luck with the ladies. Geez, what was it with that guy? How many chicks did he even have?

 _New game: Count the Chicks._

One, two, three, four— _Natasha!?_

Natasha had joined the throng of ladies vying for Hot Guy's attention. And she was doing a good job of getting it. Clint watched, teeth clenched in anger, as Hot Guy leered at Natasha, his gaze crawling down her body. Natasha was flirting aggressively with him, in a way that was not like her at all. What the heck – she was treating Hot Guy almost like he was a target—

Wait, no.

 _Exactly_ like he was a target…

Did Natasha think Hot Guy was Weber?

What would have given her that impression? She had never seen Weber before, she wouldn't just make an assumption like that. She had been going to wait on Clint to give her the signal—

Oh!

 _Ohhhhhh._

 _That was not the signal, that was_ not _the signal!... Oh, geez… How am I going to explain this one…_

Well, they didn't have comms. Clint got to his feet and strode quickly across the room, weaving around the crowds of people until he reached his partner.

Natasha was doing a stellar job of making sure she had Hot Guy's attention. The other females who were standing around him were shooting her dirty looks, and some of them were starting to filter away.

Clint came up behind Natasha. He readied himself, then tapped her bare shoulder.

She turned her head; and even though her face didn't change, he knew she was confused about why he was there.

And irritated that he'd interrupted her while she was working.  
"Yes?" she said lightly.

 _Cover, cover, keep the cover…_

"Hello. I'm Isaac Winters." Clint forced a smile. "Can I interest you in a dance?" He extended his hand.

Natasha hesitated. He could tell she was at war with herself: on the one hand, she trusted Clint, and if he was interrupting her right now, it was important. But on the other hand, she had been working hard to keep Hot Guy's interest, and the second she stepped away, her place would be filled by one of the other women, and all her work would be lost.

"Perhaps later," she said finally. She spun back to face Hot Guy.

 _Desperate times…_

Clint stepped up behind his partner and wrapped his arms around her waist. She stiffened.

For a second, Clint was distracted by her perfume, but he managed to compose himself.

"Come dance with me, beautiful woman," he crooned in a sickeningly lovey-dovey voice (which was embarrassingly easy to fake). Then he craned his head around and kissed her on the ear.

 _"Wrong. Guy."_

Natasha froze. She looked at Hot Guy, then twisted her head towards Clint in an attempt to see his face.

"Alright, Mr. Winters." Her voice dripped with false sweetness, like an annoyingly sexy package of Sweet 'n' Low. "I would be _delighted_ to dance with you."

 _Uh-oh._

Clint pulled Natasha away from Hot Guy, and her space was immediately filled by smug-looking chicks. Clint kept one arm around his partner's waist as they walked towards the dance floor.

 _"What do you mean, 'wrong guy'?"_ Natasha hissed through her teeth.

"Shh," Clint warned. _"Cover."_ He heard Natasha grit her teeth as he steered her around so she was facing him, and took her free hand. Grudgingly, she set her hand on his shoulder, and they began to dance.

 _Boy, am I in for it._

"Barton, what the hell are you trying to pull?" Natasha growled after a moment.

"That's not Weber," Clint said simply.

Natasha glared at him. "So why'd you tell me it was?"

Clint quailed a little. "I didn't…"

"Yes, you did. You looked _right at me,_ and then you looked at him. Was that not the signal?" Natasha demanded.

Clint licked his lips nervously. "No… that was not the signal," he said meekly. "I was just, um… saying hello."

 _I am such an idiot._

Natasha's eyes blazed, and for a second, he really thought she was going to start yelling at him, in the middle of the party. But then she sighed, and rested her head on his shoulder.

Clint's stomach flipped over.

"You're a blockhead, Barton," Natasha said.

"I know. I'm sorry," Clint mumbled distractedly.

Natasha's hand slipped down onto his back. She didn't speak again for a while.

 _So, that went well._

 _Not._

* * *

 **So, some of you are probably disappointed that Weber didn't show. Well, all I can say is, this story doesn't really revolve around action or missions, it's supposed to be humorous. I just used a mission as a plot device.**

 **I think that's going to be the last chapter that includes a mission though, but I could be wrong. Like I said, I'm literally just making this up as I go along, so maybe there WILL be another mission, maybe even a bit of action - who knows?**

 **Thanks for reading! :)**


	6. Step 6

**A slightly sad chapter for y'all...**

 **Thank you all for the follows and favorites! I'm glad everyone seems to like this story so far. :D**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

So, maybe Natasha had gotten (understandably) upset with him over the signal-that-actually-wasn't-a-signal. And at first, he'd been apprehensive that she was going to make him pay in some way for his error. Like, maybe turn him inside out or cut off his ears or something.

But once some time had passed and he'd realized that she wasn't upset about it anymore, he was able to look back on the "mission" and think, hey, maybe Step Five wasn't a failure after all.

Okay, so maybe Step Five _itself_ (i.e. grinning at her across the room) had almost resulted in an innocent guy being killed – so that wasn't _exactly_ a cause for celebration. But, as a direct consequence of Step Five… he had, sort of, gotten to hug her (if putting his arms around her waist from behind counted as a hug). Not to mention, kiss her. Of course, kissing her on the _mouth_ would've been preferable, but hey, kissing her on the ear was pretty enjoyable too.

So, if he could count Step Five as a success, that made for a grand total of three successes and only two failures. All in all, not a bad track record.

Step Six was:

6.) Call them.

So, easy enough. But, given the slightly awkward way things had gone when he'd _texted_ her for no reason, Clint decided he should come up with a purpose for calling her first, so she wouldn't think his house had been invaded by armed HYDRA creeps.

Just figuring out a good reason to call her (besides "just checking in is all"), took several hours longer than it should've. But, finally, Clint was able to come up with a good excuse to hear her voice:

It had been close to eleven when STRIKE Team: Delta had returned from the Weber "mission". (Even though Weber hadn't been there, the outing still technically counted as a mission, according to SHIELD standards, because it had been a SHIELD team, in a SHIELD-issued car, using SHIELD-approved weapons and SHIELD time to track down one of SHIELD's targets. Basically, SHIELD had been involved.)

Because they had returned from the party so late, Hill hadn't had the opportunity to debrief them. And she hadn't contacted them to schedule a debriefing either.

So, Clint figured he'd tell Natasha he was calling to ask if she'd heard anything from Hill about when they would be debriefed. It seemed like a good explanation.

In addition to the main topic, Clint also compiled a list of things to talk about if he didn't know what to say:

1\. Guns

2\. Weber

3\. Skiing

4\. Food (especially pasta)

5\. Dogs

6\. Different kinds of coffee

7\. Spiders

8\. Death

9\. Turtles

10\. Weird noises

So, maybe it wasn't the _best_ list – also it was scribbled on a sticky note with a blue colored pencil. But, hey, it should be enough to prevent awkward silences, and that was all that really mattered.

Also, Clint was calling her late on a Friday night, which meant she probably wouldn't be busy. Everything was working out perfectly. And if he was lucky, they would have a nice conversation, or at least a polite exchange.

Around nine-thirty, Clint got his phone and plopped down onto his sofa. Feeling weirdly nervous, he pulled up Natasha's name in his contacts and stared at the screen for a minute.

Then, he pressed the call button.

Natasha answered after the fourth ring.

"The hell do _you_ want!"

Clint winced, his heart falling. He'd planned out everything perfectly, but she was in a bad mood. It wasn't a good time.

 _Aw, no._

"Sorry, um, is this not a good time for you?" he asked meekly.

"Oh no, please; go right ahead and tell me why the _hell_ you're calling me! I wasn't _busy_ or anything!" Natasha said irritably. She sounded slightly out of breath.

Clint hesitated, restlessly pulling threads from the fabric of his couch. "Um… maybe I should call you back."

"Don't do that, I'll die of suspense," Natasha growled.

Clint didn't answer. He started to pull the phone away from his ear, prepared to hang up.

Then he heard a deep, distant voice say something over the line.

"It's just my partner," Natasha said. Her voice sounded faint, like she'd moved the receiver away from her mouth.

Clint froze.

He heard the lower voice again. It was definitely a man speaking, but he didn't catch the words

"No, my _work_ partner, dammit!" Natasha's voice still sounded far away. "Why the hell would I even be here if I was in a relationship?"

Clint frowned, growing apprehensive. "Natasha? Nat, who's there with you?" There was a short pause.

"What?" She had the receiver next to her mouth again.

"Who _is_ that? Where are you at?"

There was a rustling sound over the line.

"It's Fury," Natasha said. "I'm in a meeting."

Clint's frown deepened.

She was definitely lying.

Okay, so forget the debriefing thing. He had to make sure Nat was okay.

"Hurry up and tell me what you want, cause I'm kind of in the middle of something," Natasha went on.

Clint paused, anxiously hugging a throw pillow. "Hey, Nat… is everything okay…?"

"Is what? Oh! I'm—" The deep voice spoke again, interrupting her.

"I know, just give me a minute!" Her voice had gone distant again. "I'm trying to get rid of him!"

Clint flinched.

She was talking about him.

He stared blankly at the wall, slowly lowering his phone in dismay.

"Barton? Hey, are you still there?"

Quickly he lifted the device to his ear.

"Yeah, um…" His voice sounded a bit weak, so he cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Is everything good there?"

"Of course. Is that why you called?"

"Uh, yeah…" Clint said vacantly. "Um, I should probably let you go," he added hurriedly.

Natasha hung up.

Clint slowly lowered the phone again. He pressed the end call button, then exhaled heavily, dragging his palms across his face.

She was on a date.

That was the only explanation that made sense. 'Why would I be here if I was in a relationship?', she'd said. And there'd been a man with her. Besides, if she had really been in a meeting, then, a) she wouldn't have referred to him as "my partner", she would've just said "It's Barton"; and, b) she would've been delighted by the interruption.

Clint remembered how long it had taken her to answer, and how angry she had been when she finally did. He wondered if they had been making out when he called.

Clint gritted his teeth.

She had sounded out of breath, too, he remembered. What if they weren't just making out? What if she'd invited him back to her place and they'd been about to—

Clint hurled his phone at the opposite end of the couch. He sat still for a minute, breathing hard, until his anger began to cool.

And then he could only feel sad.

Because he'd probably missed his chance with her. While he'd been gradually building a foundation, being measured and cautious, some other guy had swooped in and won her over.

 _Get over it,_ he chided himself abruptly. _It's not like she was ever yours. You should be happy that she found someone._

But he couldn't dislodge the despondency that had settled in the pit of his stomach as he slowly stood up to go to bed.


	7. Step 7

**Hello again. :)**

 **Sorry I didn't get a chapter out yesterday - morning is my preferred writing time, and I had an appointment in the morning. Then I slept in this morning, and I almost put off writing again till tomorrow, but then I got a lovely review that really inspired me to park my butt down in front of my computer and get to work.**

 **Soo, shoutout to Mockingjay500 for reviewing! Without your comments, this chapter would literally not be here today! :D**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Coincidentally, Hill contacted Clint the next morning to schedule a debriefing for eleven. After he received the message, Clint didn't even bother looking at that internet article. If Natasha was going out with someone else, he shouldn't try to win her over – what was the point?

As per usual, he arrived at the base a little early – there was always free coffee in the café, and there was always room for free coffee in Clint's stomach. He shuffled into the cafeteria around a quarter to eleven, poured himself a mug of black coffee, and took a seat at a table near the center of the room.

Not five minutes had passed when Natasha entered.

Clint stopped drinking and watched as she filled a mug with the steaming beverage and added a packet of sugar. Then, she turned and strode away from the coffee machine—

– and headed directly towards him

 _Here we go._

"Hey," she greeted lightly, sliding into the seat across from him.

"Hey," Clint mumbled. _Wow, she doesn't really seem mad…_

"Looking forward to the debriefing?" Natasha teased.

"Nah," Clint grunted in reply, taking another sip. He was starting to feel slightly annoyed – Natasha was acting like nothing out of the ordinary had happened the night before, when she's practically lost her voice from yelling at him over the phone. Plus, she'd lied to him about where she'd been last night.

And that was definitely the only reason he was irritated – it _certainly_ didn't have anything to do with him being jealous that she'd apparently gone on a date with who-the-heck-knows. That wasn't it at _all._

Right…?

Clint glared down into his mug, fidgeting anxiously with the handle.

"How was your _meeting?"_ he blurted out.

He felt Natasha's quizzical gaze on him, but he didn't look up.

"What?"

"Your 'meeting'," he repeated, mentally adding air quotes to the latter word. "You had a 'meeting' last night, right? Kind of a weird time for a 'meeting'."

There was a pause.

 _"Oh,"_ Natasha said. "Oh, that. Yeah, it went alright. It _was_ a weird time – Fury called it up kind of last-minute. He got a report of another HYDRA attack, in Oakland."

 _The hell he did._

Clint nudged the handle of his cup with one finger, rotating it in a jerky orbit. "Wonder why he didn't invite me," he muttered.

Natasha paused. "Well… I don't know. Maybe he figured you had enough on your plate."

 _Yeah, cause I've been so busy laying around my apartment lately, talking to spiders and reading Google articles._

There was a momentary silence. Then Natasha took a deep breath.

"Look… about your phone call—"

"You were on a date, weren't you," Clint burst out, scowling at her. _So much for being happy for her._

Natasha's brow furrowed. "What?"

"I said, a date," he snarled. "I heard what you were saying to him, you know: 'It's my work partner – why would be here if I was in a relationship?'" He glowered accusingly at her.

Natasha's lips parted in disbelief, and she hesitated. "Okay… I can see why you would think that, but—"

"Stow it, Romanoff," Clint growled. "I know you're lying to me."

Natasha huffed out a breath, frowning. "Alright. Fine. Yes, I was on a date. So what?"

Clint froze, his heart sinking. He'd known it all along, of course, but actually hearing her say the words trampled the last bit of hope he'd had that he'd been imagining things.

"Why didn't you tell me," he asked faintly.

"Why do you care so much?" she retorted. "It's not any of your business when I go on dates – I don't get why you're so mad about it." She took a drag of coffee, scowling.

 _Because I'm in love with you?_

"Well, because… you're my best friend. So I figured you would _want_ to talk to me about your boyfriends." _Nice save._

Natasha's head shot up. "He's not my boyfriend," she said sharply. "We went on one date, and we probably won't again."

Clint's spirits rose considerably at that. So they weren't an official 'thing'… they probably weren't even going to go out again.

 _Sweet._

"Well then… why did you lie about it?" he challenged.

"What's it to you," Natasha snapped.

Clint frowned, slightly irked by her tone. "You don't need to get so defensive about it," he informed her.

"And _you_ don't need to harass me about it," she returned.

Clint's frown deepened. "I'm not 'harassing' you. I'm asking you perfectly innocent questions."

"And _I'm_ asking _you_ to shut up!" Natasha barked.

Clint blinked. "I just—"

"Well just _shut up!"_

They both fell silent. Simultaneously they raised their coffee cups to their lips, avoiding each other's eyes.

An idea was flickering in the back of Clint's mind, distracting him. Natasha still didn't technically have a boyfriend, she wasn't technically going out with the guy. Technically, she was still single. So, technically, he still had a chance with her.

And, _technically…_ he could take the next step on that Google article.

Clint got out his phone and proceeded to pull up the article.

He almost groaned when he saw Step 7:

7.) Touch them "accidentally".

Yeah, Natasha was gonna _love_ that. She was _always_ particular about her personal space, but when she was mad at him, she probably would rather write Fury a love poem than be touched by Clint.

Still, the show must go on.

He'd never skipped a step before, and he never intended to. He'd already made up his mind to follow this thing through to the bitter end.

(Besides, any excuse to touch Natasha was fine with him.)

Clint shifted his posture, eyeing Natasha surreptitiously from the corner of his eye. She was frowning at her cup, oblivious to his movements.

Tentatively, he stretched out a leg under the table. With all the appearance of innocence, he raised his coffee to his mouth again, as he felt his foot brush up against her leg.

She looked hastily at him, but he kept calmly scanning the room, pretending not to notice. After a moment, she drew her leg away without comment.

Clint hid a smile behind his wide mug. Maybe it was because he liked the fact that he had gotten her attention, maybe it was because she was on his nerves and it felt good to get on hers. Maybe it was because he just enjoyed having physical contact with her, in any form. But, for whatever reason, that felt really good. He started to stretch his leg towards her again.

"Barton? Romanoff?" Hill had appeared near their table, and Clint automatically jerked his leg back. "We're ready for you now."

Natasha stood up immediately and began following Hill from the café. Clint picked up his mug, then hastened to join the two women as they headed out into the hallway.

He fell into step beside Natasha. Neither of them spoke on the way to the conference room, but Clint was careful to let his arm brush against hers once or twice before they reached their destination.

The debriefing was dull, but not long. Hill reconfirmed the details of the op while Natasha avoided looking at Clint. He tried the 'kicking-her-under-the-table' trick again, but this time, she moved her legs away without looking at him.

It was ten or fifteen minutes before Hill concluded the meeting.

"Before you leave, I'd like you to both fill out mission reports," she said. "I'll need them back as soon as possible. Thank you."

Clint got up right away and headed out the door. He wasn't really pissed at Natasha anymore, just confused about how she was acting: why she had lied to him and why she was so tetchy about her date. And he was fed up with trying to understand her.

So he headed to the report offices without waiting to see if she was following him, and slid into one of the chairs behind the desk. He found a pen and an empty report sheet, and got right to work.

It wasn't long before she settled into the seat next to him, and started working dutifully on her report.

And of course, now that she was next to him, Clint had a better chance of winning the lottery twice in a row than staying focused on his work. He rested his chin on his hand, tapping the tabletop absently with his pen as he watched her write. Her head was lowered so that her red hair hid most of her face, but he could see her lips moving, mumbling to herself as she wrote.

Suddenly she turned toward him, and he froze.

 _Oh, crap._

 _Maybe I should at least pretend to be working…_

"Look, Barton," she said quietly. "I've been thinking, and… I owe you an apology. Or, more than one, actually."

Clint raised his eyebrows in surprise.

She sighed. "When you called last night… I was really pissed off. And I kind of took it out on you. You didn't deserve that. And I shouldn't have lied to you about where I was last night. I just…" She dropped her eyes again, and he had to lean closer to catch her words.

"I just knew that, if I told you I was on a date, you would take it as something serious. And it really wasn't. It was actually just a blind date – there was some guy who Pepper wanted to set me up with, and, well… I wasn't – that is… I wanted you to know that I'm single."

 _Wait, what?_

Natasha stopped suddenly; shook her head. "No, no, that came out wrong. I meant, I didn't want you to think I'm – I mean, well I'm not – see, I just—" She checked herself and huffed in annoyance, obviously frustrated by her inability to express herself. "It wasn't exactly a date – Or at least, it _was,_ but…"

Clint let her ramble on for a minute, hope rising inside him. It was hard to tell, but it seemed like she was saying that she didn't want him to think she was "taken". _Why_ she was so adamant that he not think that, he wasn't sure, but he did have an insane, ridiculous, _amazing_ theory…

"So the date didn't go well?" He interrupted her halting flow of speech, partly because it was growing painful to listen to, but mainly because she was getting flustered, and color was rushing to her cheeks. And, adorable though it was, he figured it was time to save her from more embarrassment.

She looked relieved and grateful at the interruption. "We ended up disagreeing. We were actually right in the middle of a shouting match when you called."

 _So_ that's _why she sounded out of breath. THANK GOD._

"Anyways." Natasha tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't think I'll be seeing him again. He turned out to be kind of a jerk."

Clint skillfully hid how delighted he was to hear that.

"Well, I'm sorry too," he said. "I shouldn't have gotten so mad at you earlier. You were right, it wasn't really my job to grill you about your dates."

Natasha nodded her acceptance.

"So… we good?" Clint asked.

Natasha smiled. "Yeah. We're good."

She went back to writing her report.

Clint had new questions now: Why had she been so particular that he should know she wasn't dating anyone? Why had she gotten all flustered when she was talking to him? Of course, it _could_ have just been that she was embarrassed by her 'I wanted you to know I'm single' comment – maybe she didn't want him to think she was interested in him when she wasn't.

Well… that was _one_ explanation…

Clint shifted his posture. Then, hesitantly, he slid his leg to the side towards her. He found her leg, and rested the side of his ankle against hers.

This time, she didn't pull away.

* * *

 **I kind of have a love/hate relationship with this chapter - I like what happens in it, but I feel like I did a poor job of writing it, especially near the end. I really hope it wasn't too confusing - sorta seemed rushed and incoherent to me. :/**

 **Still, I'll keep at it, and hopefully, I'll get the next chapter out tomorrow morning! Hopefully I won't forget to set my alarm like I did today! xD**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	8. Step 8

**Thank you guys so much for the reviews! :D Reading them seriously inspires me so much, like you don't even know. xD**

 **Thanks for the follows/favorites, too - I'm glad you all like the story so far - hopefully I'll be able to keep putting out good chapters. x)**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Clint was awakened early the next morning by the smug ringing of his cellphone. With a few mumbled curses, he disentangled himself from the sea of blankets and sat up.

 _What time is it? It's gotta be like six. Who the hell would call at six a.m.?_

He glanced at his clock.

 _Oh._

 _It's nine-thirty._

 _Nice._

He snagged his phone from the nightstand.

It was Hill.

"Hey, Barton. Do you have anything planned for the day?"

"Uh…" Clint rubbed his tousled head. _Yeah, lay around at home, watch TV, and eat._ "Nothing particular."

"Well, I hate to ask you to work on a Sunday, but Agent Mayer, the guy who usually trains the recruits, called in sick. Would you be open to filling in for him?"

 _The recruits have to train on Sundays? Yuck._

"Yeah, sure, I'll do that," Clint said. "What exactly would I be doing?"

"You'll be working from ten to three, with a lunch break at noon. The first half of the day is primarily physical activity. I'll give you a schedule when you get here."

"Sounds good," Clint said. "I'll be there at ten."

Hill hung up.

Clint tossed his phone aside and reached for his laptop. If he were honest with himself, a large part of the reason why he'd agreed to help out was in the hopes that a certain redhead would be at HQ. Of course, it was a Sunday, so there was a good chance she wouldn't, but hey, she _might_ be…

He pulled up the Google article and scrolled down to Step 8:

8.) Go out of your way to see them.

Okay… so, apparently, he was going to be seeing her today whether she was at HQ or not. If he was going to go out of his way to see her, though, it might help to know where she was. Clint retrieved his phone and shot Natasha a short text:

 _[9:36, sent]_ Any plans for the day?

Her reply came in quickly:

 _[9:37, Nat]_ Not really. Was going to hang out at the park

The park. Good. That wasn't far from HQ at all, he could easily stop by during his lunch break. He had hardly come to this conclusion when another text came in:

 _[9:37, Nat]_ Come with?

Clint smiled down at the text. Even though he was going to be busy today, it still made him happy that she had invited him. He was about to reply, telling her that he'd try to stop by during his lunch break, but he stopped himself. Maybe he could surprise her.

 _[9:38, sent]_ Can't :( I'm working with the recruits

 _[9:38, Nat]_ It was worth a try. Good luck

"Thanks, I'll need it," Clint said aloud. Then he switched off his phone and dragged himself out of bed.

…

Hill was right about the first part of the day being mostly physical. She had given him the schedule when he arrived at the base, and he was rather disheartened to see that from ten to eleven was "workout", and from eleven to twelve was "sparring practice".

 _I did NOT sign up for this!_

 _Oh, wait…_

 _That's exactly what I did._

By the time noon rolled around, Clint was sweaty and exhausted. So much so that the last recruit he sparred with almost got the better of him. Were it not for a well-timed shoulder throw, Clint would have ended up with both his sternum and his ego severely bruised.

Clint let the last recruit off the mat. The archer was panting hard, and sweat rolled off his body as he slumped down onto the mat.

 _It's about time I had a workout. I've barely moved since July._

"Alright, good job, everyone!" Clint called weakly. "Everybody go get your lunch now. Meet back here for shooting practice in one hour."

"One hour?" one of the younger boys asked. "Don't you mean half an hour?"

Clint lifted his head. "Huh?"

"We have a half hour lunch break," the boy said. "We'll be back at twelve-thirty!" He turned and followed the other eager recruits out the door.

"You," Clint panted, "have _got_ to be joking."

Okay, so maybe he wouldn't be spending as much time with Natasha as he'd hoped.

Dangit.

Clint looked at his watch. It was 12:02.

 _That's two minutes you've wasted lying here on the mat… Get up, Lazy Butt._

He heaved himself up to his feet, still panting. Then he dragged himself off the sparring mat, put his shoes back on, and headed towards the front of the base.

The hallways seemed much longer than usual, but Clint finally found his way to the front of the building and stepped out into the parking lot. He shielded his eyes from the hot sun, scanning the area for his car.

Oh wait.

He'd parked in the parking garage.

Clint turned and squinted up at the structure, his heart sinking. He was on the very top floor, too. And, unless he was mistaken, the elevators were still out of order. He glanced at his watch again. It was 12:08. To climb all the stairs up to his car, maneuver it down to the ground level, and swerve through the parking lot seemed like more trouble than it was worth. Not to mention sinking even more of his time and energy.

He turned the other way. In the distance, he could distinguish the outskirts of the park. It really wasn't that far. And Natasha was there _now._ At any minute, she might decide to leave for lunch.

He glanced at his watch. 12:09.

Clint made up his mind in a split second. He began jogging across the parking lot towards the road, determined to get to the park as fast as he could.

 _I'm going to regret this, aren't I_ …

As he jogged down the sidewalk towards the park, Clint did some speedy mental math. He didn't know how long it would take him to get to the park, but he knew he had about twenty minutes before he needed to be back at the base. Ten minutes there, ten minutes back. At this thought, Clint went from a jog to a full-out run. If he was going to do this, he was going to have to step it up a notch.

Or maybe, three notches.

The people he passed on the sidewalks gave him strange looks as he ran madly towards the park, but he ignored them. He was going to be seeing Natasha soon – that was the thought that kept him going.

The sun beat down heavily on him; he was breathing hard, his lungs burning, his legs starting to throb, and he was soaked with sweat. It crossed his mind once to turn back, but he was too far now to consider that.

It was almost exactly 12:20 when he finally came tearing into the park. The trees provided blissful shade, and he felt like cheering.

But he wasn't done yet – now he had to actually _find_ Natasha.

This wasn't a big park… was it?

Clint ran past children playing on playgrounds, people exercising, squirrels searching for nuts out in the open. A couple of times, he passed people walking their dogs, and it took all his willpower not to stop and ask if he could pet them (the dogs, not the people).

But, finally, he saw it – a flash of red hair up ahead.

Natasha was sitting on a bench with her back to him, chatting with a blonde woman in athletic wear who Clint recognized as Bobbi Morse. It looked like Bobbi had gone for a jog in the park, and had run into Natasha (jogged into her? Oh, whatever).

Clint put on a burst of speed as he drew closer to the bench. Bobbi looked up at him, and she said something to Nat. The redhead turned, and stood up as Clint slowed his steps, coming to a stop beside the bench.

"Barton! What are you doing here?" Natasha asked in surprise. "I thought you had to train the new recruits. Is everything okay? What's going on?"

Natasha was standing in front of him, looking up at him in concern. Panting hard, Clint glanced at his watch.

12:25. _Dangit, dangit, DANGIT!_ He was going to be late.

Clint clutched at a stitch in his side and held up his hand as he tried to catch his breath.

 _Definitely should've taken the car._

"Are you okay? You look awful. Here, sit down." Natasha motioned to the bench. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Is something happening at HQ?" Bobbi asked nervously. "Are we under attack?"

"No! No, no, no," Clint finally managed to gasp. "Nothing's… wrong…"

"Sit down," Natasha repeated, but Clint shook his head.

"No, I… I gotta go. I just—" He took a deep breath, his heartrate finally beginning to slow. "I knew you were here, so, I came to see you."

"Who? Me?" Bobbi asked in confusion.  
Clint shook his head. "No… not you… But hi, Bobbi. I meant her." He gestured vaguely at Natasha.

"Why did you need to see me?" Natasha asked briskly.

Clint held onto the back of the bench for support, straightening himself up.

"Just… came to say hi."

Natasha blinked. Bobbi blinked. The two women exchanged confused glances.

Clint forced a smile, well aware that he looked like an idiot. And that he probably was. He waved halfheartedly at his partner.  
"So… hi, Natasha."

Natasha frowned, looking up at him with puzzlement and a touch of worry.

"Barton? Are you okay?" She reached up and rested the back of her knuckles against his forehead. Her hand felt cool against his skin.

She turned to Bobbi. "He's burning up."

Clint gave a painful laugh. "No – it's just cause I was running. I'm fine, I promise." He took a step back, and her hand fell away from his face.

"Barton, why don't you sit down," Bobbi suggested.

Clint shook his head. "No – I gotta get back. See you later. Tasha. Bobbi."

He turned and began jogging back the way he had come. He could feel Natasha watching him, but she didn't call him back again.

He had a long run back to the base, and if he was going to make it on time, he was going to have to step it up a notch.

Or maybe, twelve notches.

 _And now, if we weren't sure before, we can now say with absolute certainty that I, Clint Barton, am an idiot._

* * *

 **I really hope this wasn't too boring! I know not a ton happens in it, but some of the Steps are a little harder to get inspiration on Dx**

 **Anyways, thanks for reading - hopefully I'll be back with another chapter tomorrow morning! :)**


	9. Step 9

**I thought this chapter would be grotesquely boring, but I actually kind of like it xD**

 **Hope you like it too - enjoy! :)**

* * *

Well, if there was one good thing he could take away from the whole 'Step 8' disaster, it was that Natasha had been worried about him. And had touched his forehead. A small victory, but hey, it's the little things that make a difference, right? Besides, that whole ordeal had been a total flop, so it was good to find a silver lining. Even if it was a thin silver lining.

Maybe actually more like a gray lining.

Anyway, maybe Step 9 would be better. The next morning, the first thing Clint did was consult the list to find out:

9.) Loan them a book that you "just thought they would like."

Oh no.

 _This_ could be a problem.

Because Clint… well, he didn't read. Or not really. At least, he hadn't read in a while. Like at least a year. And if he didn't really have any 'favorite books', then how was he supposed to recommend one to Natasha? Just pick out a random book title and tell her to read it?

Actually yeah, no, that probably wouldn't go well. He'd end up picking out a board book or something (no offense against board books).

 _Well, there's got to be_ something _I can let her borrow._

Clint shuffled into the living room and approached the dusty old bookshelf. He knelt down in front of it and began perusing the titles.

He didn't even know where he'd gotten half of these books from, and he'd only read like five of them. He frowned, mumbling the titles to himself as he tilted his head sideways to read them.

 _Why the hell do I own a book called 'And Now My Soul Is Hardened'?_

Clint pulled the book from the bookshelf and flipped it over to look at the back. The back panel read: 'Warfare, epidemics, and famine left millions of Soviet children homeless during the 1920s. Many became beggars, prostitutes, and thieves, and—'

 _Okay, so not that one,_ he decided quickly, putting it away. _Why do I even have this book anyway?_

A brightly colored volume caught Clint's eye, and he pulled the book out to examine it.

"The Big Book of Pain: Torture & Punishment Through History – What the _hell!?"_ he exclaimed aloud. _Where do I even get these books!?_

He put the book away and searched for a different title.

His eye fell on a classic: _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone._ Hey, _that_ was a good one. This was one he'd actually read more than once. Clint pulled it eagerly out of the bookshelf and glanced over it.

 _Well… why not this one?_

 _I guess anything's better than… what does that say? Oh – 'Understanding Child Abuse and Neglect'. Good._

Clint tucked the Harry Potter book under his arm and hastened away from the terrifying bookshelf.

…

Natasha was at HQ. It didn't even occur to Clint to question this fact or at least check up on it until he arrived at the base. That was usually where she was in the mornings, whether she was in a meeting, training the new recruits (which she was sometimes forced into doing by Hill), helping with paperwork in some way, working out, or doing something else entirely. Whatever the case, that was where she was most likely to be, so Clint entered the base without bothering to text her and make sure.

Fortunately, he was right. When he entered the SHIELD café for his customary cup of coffee, Natasha was nowhere in sight – but he was informed by several agents who were loitering by the coffee machine that they had seen her heading down to the basement, which was where the gym was. Clint finished his coffee and headed down to the basement.

The SHIELD gym was always alive with activity, but especially in the mornings. Able-bodied agents were scattered across the room, sparring, stretching, and using the workout equipment to stay in shape. Seeing all of them working so hard gave Clint a twinge of guilt – he hadn't been in the gym yet this week. He should really stop by more often.

He located Natasha pretty quickly – she was easy to spot, thanks to her vibrant hair. She was across the room, bench pressing two impressively large dumbbells. Her eyes were closed, and the white cords of her earphones snaked down into the front pouch of her black hoodie.

Clint crossed the room and circled around behind her head. He stood there for a minute, looking down at her upside-down face. Her hood had fallen down, and her hair was tied back in a curly ponytail.

Clint nudged her head with his knee. "Hey, you."

Natasha opened her green eyes and looked up at him. She smiled, making his chest constrict, then said, "Give me a minute." She spoke a bit louder than normal, probably because of the volume of her music.

Clint nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. Natasha closed her eyes again – she hadn't noticed the fat book under his arm yet.

Several minutes passed, filled with the sounds of the activity from the other agents in the room. Clint waited patiently, watching with admiration as his partner continued steadily lifting and lowering the dumbbells, which he now saw were a hundred pounds each.

Finally, she opened her eyes and sat up, lowering the weights onto the floor. She tugged out her earphones and dropped them onto the floor with her phone, then peeled her hoodie off over her head, leaving her in a thin tank top and shorts. Her skin was glistening with sweat, and a few loose strands of hair clung to the nape of her neck. Clint swallowed, trying not to stare at her muscular back and shoulders.

Of course, being her partner, he'd seen her in various stages of undress through the years… but not since he'd realized how he felt about her. And now suddenly it felt so different…

Natasha swiveled on the bench to face him, using her hoodie to wring the perspiration from her hair. "So what's up?"

"Oh, uh…" Clint cleared his throat, trying to collect his thoughts. _Come on, just say something, you dummy!_ "Well… not much. Just, uh…"

"'Just came to say hi'?" Natasha quoted, smirking.

Clint realized she was alluding to what had happened the previous day, and he blushed, remembering how foolish he'd looked. Natasha's smirk grew, and she quirked an eyebrow, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Oh, yeah, uh…" He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. That was, uh… yeah. Sorry about that."

Natasha shook her head, lightly dismissing his apology. "Morse and I had fun trying to guess what you were up to."

Clint gulped. "Like… like how?"

She shrugged. "Morse felt pretty bad about it, actually – she was one-hundred-percent convinced that you'd come to tell me something private, but you couldn't because she was there." She ducked her head, scooping her phone up off the floor.

"Oh," Clint said clumsily.

"Did you?" Natasha asked abruptly. Her tone was affectedly casual, and she seemed intensely focused on winding up the cords of her earphones rather than looking at him.

"Did I – huh? Oh." Suddenly Clint wished he _did_ have something private to tell her. That sounded a lot more impressive and interesting than just coming to say hi. "No, I didn't," he admitted meekly.

Natasha looked up at him again, fixing him in place with her searching gaze. "Hm," she said finally.

There was an awkward silence.

Natasha's eyes dropped downward, and she squinted, tipping her head on its side. "What's that?"

Clint froze. "What's what?"

"That." Natasha indicated his book.

"Oh!" Clint presented the novel. "It's Harry Potter. Have you read it?"

She shook her head.

"It's really good. You should read it sometime. Actually—" (as though it had just now occurred to him) "—why don't you borrow it? Right now? I mean, _I've_ already read it, so…" He extended it eagerly towards her.

Natasha shook her head. "No, that's okay. I'm pretty busy these days. I'll get around to reading it sometime or another." She tucked her cell and earphones into the pocket of her hoodie.

Clint hesitated, his hope fading. "Are you sure? I think you'd really like it," he said fervently, trying to pass her the volume again.

"No, thanks." Natasha swung a leg over the bench and stood up.

Clint mumbled something about "okay" and stuck the book under his arm, disappointed.

"Anyways… I should go," he said, toeing the floor. He felt Natasha look keenly at him.

"Wait, hold on," she said, stepping towards him. Clint met her eyes, then she looked down at his book again. She extended her hand.

"Let me see it."

Clint hopefully handed her the novel.

Natasha turned it over in her hands; flipped through a few pages. Clint waited expectantly.

"You know what, I've been meaning to read these," she said, looking up at him. "I think I will borrow it."

"Okay!" Clint said excitedly. "Yeah, borrow it, and uh… tell me if you like it! We can talk about it, if you want. I've read them all, you're gonna love it!"

"Okay," Natasha said, grinning at him. "Yeah, I'll definitely read it. I haven't read in a while, it'll be fun."

"Okay," Clint said again. "Well… I guess I should go now." _(Before I have a chance to make a fool of myself.)_ "I'll catch up with you later." He turned and started for the exit.

"Wait, Barton."

Clint turned. Natasha was crossing her arms, tucking the book against her chest, smirking at him.

"You know… you and I haven't gone head-to-head in a while."

Clint started smiling. "What, you mean like sparring?"

"Yeah, like sparring." Natasha took a step closer to him, grinning wickedly. "What do you say? Tomorrow, same time, same place?"

"I'll be here," Clint said immediately.

Natasha nodded promptly, then pivoted and returned to the bench. Clint was still smiling as he headed out of the gym.

 _This is gonna be great! I haven't sparred with her in ages, not since… not since I realized…_

 _Oh, crud._


	10. Step 10

**Sorry I didn't post yesterday! I went hiking with some chums. x)**

 **Anyways, I turned out with an extra-long chapter now... I've never been especially good at writing sparring/fighting scenes though, so I really hope this doesn't disappoint. x)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The next morning, Clint awoke eager and ready for his sparring match with Natasha. As she'd said, it had been awhile since they'd sparred, and he was looking forward to getting on the mat again.

Of course, it had already occurred to him that his newfound feelings for Natasha could cause some… complications. He wasn't sure what form these difficulties might take, but… well, to put it bluntly, he hadn't really been up-close-and-personal with her like this in a long time. Even just the thought of it gave him a weird swooping sensation in his stomach, like he'd just stepped off the side of a cliff (which he was starting to grow tempted to do).

But he pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind as he got ready to head down to the base. He was still going to have fun – he was a professional, and he'd be able to focus on his fighting rather than his opponent.

Right…?

Before he left his apartment, Clint pulled up the infamous Google article to look at the next step:

10.) Say their name when you're talking to them.

 _Wait… huh? How is_ that _supposed to help?_

Clint scrolled down to read the fine print underneath the step (there were descriptions under all the steps, but he'd always skipped them).

 _It's true!_ the fine print insisted. _People thrill at the sound of their own name — especially when uttered by someone they're interested in!_

Clint snorted. 'Someone they're interested in'? Geez, if Natasha was interested in him, why the heck would he be reading an article called '21 Ways To Hint That You Like Someone'? Come on, people.

He was tempted to skip this step – it just sounded so dumb. And ineffectual. And kind of pointless.

But he'd already made up his mind that he would do _every step_ (a decision that he is going to very much regret in later chapters – spoiler alert haha). And all the other steps had ended up working out well. Or at least, most of them. Fifty percent? Oh, whatever – at least _some_ of them had worked out.

Plus, this step was ridiculously easy, especially compared to some of the others – all he had to do was address her by her name when he was talking to her: Natasha. _Natasha._ Huh. It _was_ a pretty name. He'd never really thought about it before.

Clint shut his laptop and headed for the door.

…

Clint strolled into the SHIELD gym at eleven. As usual, it was pretty crowded – a little more crowded than usual, actually. It was possible that news of his and Natasha's sparring match had spread; being two of SHIELD's top agents, they often attracted decent-sized crowds when they sparred.

Clint idly scanned the room for his partner as he made his way towards where the sparring mats were, and dropped his duffel bag by the wall.

"Hey there, hotshot."

Clint turned eagerly to see Natasha sauntering towards him, smirking. Her hair was tied back, and she was dressed and ready to go in athletic shorts and a loose T-shirt.

"You all warmed up?" Clint asked, unzipping his jacket.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course not, dummy," she said. "You're not warmed up so that would give me an unfair advantage. What kind of competitor do you think I am; we don't play dirty."

"Speak for yourself," Clint sing-songed. Natasha hit him with her water bottle.

 _Oh wait!—I'm supposed to be calling her by her first name, aren't I?_

"So are you ready to get your ass kicked?" Natasha went on, lifting an eyebrow.

Clint smiled. "Are _you,_ Natasha?"

"I don't need to be, seeing as I'll be the one doing the ass-kicking," she returned.

Clint raised his eyebrows, stepping out of his shoes. "Wow, you—"

He broke off as he saw Natasha dart towards him, rapidly closing the space between them. He had all the time in the world to react, but he found himself frozen, his breath hitching as she effortlessly tackled him to the floor.

Natasha's knee was in the center of his chest, and she was using her hands to pin his arms to the floor. He tried to get his bearings, but found it difficult as she smirked down at him, not the least bit out of breath.

"Strike One," Natasha sang.

Clint said something really intelligent, like "Wha"

"That was way too easy, partner," she informed him. "Your reflexes used to be better than this – you're losing your touch."

 _I'm not losing my touch,_ Clint thought soberly as he gazed into her mischievous face. _I'm losing my mind._

"The ma—" Clint cleared his throat. "The match hadn't technically started yet. We're not on the mat."

She snorted lightly. "Yeah, I know that, moron. You told me to warm up – think of this as my warm-up."

"I didn't—" Clint shifted slightly underneath her, and her gaze flitted briefly off his face. _"—technically_ tell you to warm up. I just asked if you had."

Natasha shrugged and leapt nimbly off of him, brushing herself off. "Yeah, so bite me."

(It was very fortunate that she wasn't looking at his face when she said that.)

Clint heaved himself to his feet. "So… now that we've 'warmed up'" (He put air quotes around the last two words.) "Are you ready to go? Natasha?" he added.

She grinned. "Let's do this."

Now that they'd had a practice run, Clint was even more apprehensive about this than he'd been before. If that little attack had been any indication, this was not going to go well.

He hid his anxiety as Natasha led the way to the mat, and they both stepped up onto it. Clint saw that he had been right about the reason for the extra people in the gym – a few spare agents had already paused in their exercising and were watching them.

 _Yeah, you guys are in for a real show. Watch the Black Widow wipe the floor with the lovesick arrow guy. Geez._

Clint took one side of the mat and faced his partner—

—who was in the process of taking her shirt off. Clint froze as she tossed the T-shirt out of the ring, leaving her in shorts and a black sports bra.

 _Oh. Fantastic._

 _That's not going to be distracting at all._

"So, uh… ground rules?" Clint said weakly. (Yes, he was stalling. He just _knew_ he was going to make an idiot of himself, as per usual.)

Natasha made a face as she pulled the elastic out of her vivid hair, shaking it free around her shoulders. _(Oh, yeah, that's definitely gonna make things even_ less _distracting.)_ "Ok, fine. _Ground_ rules: try to knock your opponent onto the _ground."_

"Ha, ha, very funny, Nat," Clint said, still trying to conceal his uneasiness. "Seriously, though. Ground rules." (Yes, he was still stalling.)

Natasha slipped the elastic around her wrist and shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "What's wrong with our usual ground rules?" she asked.

Then she threw herself at him.

At first, Clint struggled. Just as he'd known he would. He managed not to get knocked onto his ass within the first few minutes, but he wasn't exactly up to his normal par. To say the least.

He had never had this feeling while sparring with Natasha before, and it aggravated him – he was hardly able to focus on her movements because he was so busy trying _not_ to focus on _her;_ the little expressions she made as she fought, the way her bright hair flew around her shoulders, the motion of her eyes as she analyzed his movements, the sheen of sweat on her forehead, her flawless curves—

A solid kick landed on his left hip, and he grunted, staggering back a few steps. _I probably deserved that._

"Come on, Hawk Boy, step it up!" Natasha urged him. She could tell he was struggling – he'd barely been able to block her attacks, and he hadn't launched any attacks of his own yet. He was playing defense, and that wasn't like him. And she knew something was up. Clint gritted his teeth.

 _Come on, you've_ got _to snap out of it!_

Clint had had lots of practice isolating his emotions while working. Of course, he'd never had to fight this particular emotion before, and it was a heck of a lot harder than any other he'd _compartmentalized_ , so to speak. But he was angry and determined, and, gradually, he began concentrating more of his attention on the fight rather than on his partner.

And the results were… well, pretty impressive. He could tell Natasha was impressed as he was finally able to counter her attacks with equally deadly strikes of his own.

He nailed Natasha in the shoulder; she responded by going for a right jab to the jaw. He grabbed her fist before it connected with his mandible and yanked her towards him, twisting the back of her forearm up against his chest. Her free fist cocked back, but he caught it before it landed in his face, then swiftly crossed her arm over the opposite elbow and tucked her left wrist behind her right, enabling him to pin both her forearms to his chest with one arm.

She was right in his face now, and he had to work harder than ever to stay focused. She was breathing hard, sweating, and she tossed her hair out of her face as her scowling eyes rapidly explored her position, trying to find a way out. He had her pulled up against him so tightly that she had to tiptoe and arch her back – she tried to jerk free, but he wrapped his free hand around her arms, doubling his grip.

Clint saw the opportunity to knock her back onto the mat and he shifted his weight forward onto her, but she lithely sprang back, redistributing their balance.

Her fingers flexed back, scrabbling toward his face, but he raised it out of her reach, growing hopeful – she was running out of options. Then she dropped her head back and he realized she was going to head-butt him. His left arm shot up, and he braced the heel of his hand against the underside of her chin, driving her head back.

His fingers were curled loosely over her nose and mouth, and he could feel her warm breath on his hand. Suddenly he felt a new sensation on the pads of his fingers… soft and slippery…

Was that…?

Clint froze, his heart thudding painfully. He held perfectly still as she used her tongue to draw his third and fourth fingertips in between her lips.

 _What… wait why the hell is she…_

He had unintentionally relaxed the pressure on her chin, so she lowered her head forward and looked right at him. There was a devilish glint in her eye as she sucked his fingers further into her mouth.

 _Holy sh—_

She bit down.

Clint cried out and tried to snatch his hand out, but she bit harder, her eyes laughing. Clint released her arms and she immediately spat his hand out, hurling herself at him. He went right to the floor like a dead rag doll.

Clint was flat on his back, panting. Natasha was sitting on top of him, gasping for air and laughing, using her knees to pin his arms to his sides.

She bent over his face, and her hair curtained her cheeks as she grinned down at him.

"I have to admit," she panted. "I was _not_ expecting that to work. That was my last resort."

Clint didn't reply. He was embarrassed and furious with himself. Of _course_ she had been trying to bite him – why else would she pull his fingers into her mouth? If he had realized what she was doing, it would have been the easiest thing in the world to just flex his fingers up out of her reach, instead of standing there goggling like a dummy. And, even more maddening, he had actually sort of really enjoyed it. Not just the tongue part, the biting part, too. And he was even sort of really enjoying having her sit on his chest, right now.

 _So much for being an expert at separating emotions from combat. Dammit._

"Are you okay," Natasha added breathlessly.

"Um…" Clint cleared his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. You?"

"Yep!" She stood up and stepped away from him, then extended a hand and helped him up.

Clint glanced at the sizeable crowd, just beginning to wander away from the mat. _Boy, they're gonna be talking about this for days._

"Go another round?" Natasha suggested, backing to the opposite side of the ring.

Clint shook his head hurriedly. "No… probably not a good idea," he said. "Nice job though."

"You too," she called.

He didn't look back at her as he stepped off the mat and headed back to the wall.

 _So… that was, uh… wow._

* * *

 **Again, I really hope this was okay! Dx Action isn't my strong point, but hey, I tried. :)**

 **More later!**


	11. Step 11

**You guys! Your reviews! Are so nice! Like! They seriously make my day! Thank you n bless you all!**

 **Okay, so this chapter... may be impressively boring. But hey, I've gotta space out the good chapters between bad ones, amirite? xD**

 **Try to enjoy... :D**

* * *

Clint realized after the infamous sparring match that he'd never exactly followed through on Step 10: Say their name when you're talking to them. He had remembered it, like, once – beyond that, he'd been a little, well, distracted.

But instead of staying on Step 10 and redoing it, he decided he might as well go ahead and move onto Step 11 (had he really been doing this for eleven days? Sheesh). Maybe he'd throw her first name in once or twice today too, just so he could feel like he'd completed all the steps.

So the next morning, he pulled up the article and looked at Step 11:

11.) Compliment them.

Oh.

Well…

This was good. This was fine. Complimenting her would be easy – there was so much about her to compliment. Super easy.

Right…?

Well, okay, so maybe he did have a track record for bungling things up, stumbling over his words, tripping on his own feet, breaking and/or spilling things, and being generally awkward. (Which, by the way, why did he have to be like that, dangit? He wished he was a really smooth, cool guy. Then Natasha would totally like him.)

It didn't even have to be an earth-shattering comment – if he could just deliver _one_ compliment, without stammering, blushing, tripping over his words, sounding really forced or awkward, or having it come out wrong, then he would consider himself lucky. Surely that wasn't too much to ask.

Right…?

…

Clint arrived at HQ and made his customary stop at the café. Again, he didn't have actual proof that Natasha would be here at SHIELD today, but it was a good guess. As he prepared his coffee, he took a quick scan of the room – well, she wasn't in this area, anyway.

There were a few guys he knew chatting at the coffee machine, so he asked if any of them had seen his partner.

"Romanoff?" Miller said. "Yeah, she was here. She went off somewhere, I think Hill wanted to talk to her."

"You might try the second floor. Office Twelve," Mayer put in.

Clint thanked them and headed back into the hall.

He turned the corner and saw Hill standing in the hallway, talking to just the person he was looking for.

 _Oh. That was easy._

Natasha was clutching a stack of folders, talking heatedly to the commander. Clint could tell by her expression and posture that she wasn't happy. Hill was standing with her arms crossed, exuding that attitude of 'you-may-be-a-lethal-assassin-with-thousands-of-confirmed-kills-but-so-help-me-I-am-your-superior-so-you'd-better-watch-your-tone'. It was a look Clint was all too familiar with.

Hill was just walking away from Natasha when Clint approached them. "I'm not asking for a diagnostic rundown on our filing system, Romanoff," the commander was saying over her shoulder. "Just get the job done." She continued on down the hall. Natasha scowled after her.

Clint came to a stop beside the redhead. "Hey, Natasha."

She glanced up at him, unsmiling. "Hey." She started down the hall, and Clint fell into step beside her.

"What's going on?" he asked tentatively, looking down at her.

She took a slow breath. "Apparently they're changing the way we organize files from alphabetized to this arrangement based on importance and target profiles. Hill has me working in the office all day, relocating all these damn files." She glared accusingly at the folders in her hands.

Clint frowned. "Wait – isn't that like a Level Two job?"

She sighed heavily. "Yep. She called in a favor."

Clint grimaced. "That sucks."

"Tell me about it. No one should have to be subjected to this."

Clint raised his eyebrows. "You don't think they should change the system?"

(In reality, he couldn't care less whether SHIELD arranged their files based on alphabetization, importance, or which file could make the best paper airplane. He was only asking because it gave him something to talk to Natasha about. And she looked like she could use someone to talk to.)

"I don't think they should change the system, no," Natasha answered. "I think they should get _rid_ of the system."

"Get rid of it? How?"

She wrinkled her nose and picked at the corner of a folder. "The whole paper-and-cabinet scheme is kind of outdated. I think we should nix it altogether, stick with the digital approach."

"What, like keep all our files on a computer? Don't we already do that?"

"Well, yeah, but we have both forms." Natasha mimicked Hill's voice: "'Nothing beats a hard copy, Romanoff.' Bullcrap. Paper is easier to steal, and I can set up firewalls so the computers can't be hacked." She shrugged. "She wasn't buying it."

Clint nodded. He knew that if Natasha didn't want a computer to be hacked, it wouldn't be. Besides being one of the world's most skilled assassins, she was a technological genius. He'd always thought that was pretty cool – you might not expect someone who was known for beating people up to be a computer whiz.

Hey… speaking of which…

Would that make a good compliment?

Clint cleared his throat. _Here goes nothing._ "You know, I've always thought it was really cool that you can do that kinda… computer-y stuff," he said. "You know. Being the kind of person that you are."

Natasha stopped walking.

"'Being the kind of person that I am'?" she repeated, her brows furrowing. She whirled to face him. "Why – what – what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Clint froze. "Oh – no—"

"Do you mean that I'm mentally incompetent?" she demanded, her frown deepening to a glower. "You can't believe I could possibly know my way around computers?"

"What? No!" Clint exclaimed, heat rushing to his face. This was not going well. "I just meant, like, it's impressive how you understand stuff that has to do with, like, words and—"

"Oh, because I'm Russian?" Natasha snapped.

Clint quailed a little. It wasn't normal for her to get mad so quickly over his stupid remarks – clearly this wasn't a good time. She had already been in a bad mood before – he really should have been more careful with what he said.

"No, just, like…" He tried to explain himself. "You usually do stuff that has to do with your body—"

"What, you mean like seducing people?" she interrupted.

Clint felt himself grow even redder. "No, no, no, of course not! Just like—" He broke off, trying to figure out how to phrase what he was thinking.

Natasha raised an eyebrow.

"Combat," Clint said weakly.

Natasha rolled her eyes and began stalking towards the elevators.

"Combat!" he called after her. _Oh, man._

He stood frozen in the hallway, watching helplessly as she boarded the elevator.

He had to fix this.

Well, knowing him, he would probably end up making it worse, but he had to at least _try_ to apologize.

What had Mayer said? Oh, right – second floor, Office Twelve. Clint ran to the stairwell.

He was panting when he emerged on the second floor. He ran down the hallway till he found the correct office, and he burst in.

Natasha was standing by the desk, frowning with concentration as she studied the file that was open in front of her. She glanced up at him as he staggered in, but didn't speak.

"Look, Nat, I'm really sorry," he gasped, clutching a stitch in his side. "What I said – that was so idiotic. Just pretend I didn't say it, okay? I didn't mean it how it sounded." He leaned against the door, trying to catch his breath

Natasha shook her head. "Forget it. I probably overreacted, I've just got a lot going on right now."

Clint exhaled, relieved with how cool she was being about it.

Maybe he should leave before he upset her again.

"Anyway… yeah. I should go," he said breathlessly.

"Okay."

Clint started to open turn towards the door.

"Will I see you tomorrow, Stark's party?" Natasha called after him.

Clint turned to face her. "Uh…" Oh, right – Stark _had_ mentioned something about a shindig Thursday night. "Yeah. I'll be there."

"Okay. See you." Natasha almost smiled.

Encouraged, Clint made a spur-of-the-moment decision: he would try to compliment her again. It hadn't gone well the first time, and he was sure he could do better. At least, _pretty_ sure…

"Anyways… I should probably get back to work," Natasha said.

Clint nodded. "Yeah, yeah." He hesitated, trying to think of a good compliment.

"So I guess I'll see you tomorrow," Natasha added.

"You did a stellar job kicking my ass yesterday," Clint blurted out.

 _Wait, what did I just say!?_

Natasha stared at him for a minute.

Then she burst out laughing.

Clint started grinning. He hadn't meant to be funny, but he couldn't help it – he loved her laugh – he was pretty sure it had been the first thing about her that he'd fallen in love with. And he loved the fact that he'd made her laugh when she was having a bad day.

"Okay… um…" Her laughter finally started subsiding. "Well, thank you." She grinned at him

"Yeah, no problem," Clint said cheerfully. "Anyways… guess I'll see you round." _Before I have a chance to mess things up again._

"Bye, Barton."

Clint stumbled out into the hall.

* * *

 **If you've read any of my other fics, you may have caught a reference to one of them here:**

 **'Office Twelve, Second Floor' is the same room where Clint and Natasha were interrupted when they were about to make out in my oneshot, _Deprived_. xD**

 ** _Deprived_ doesn't necessarily exist in the same 'verse as this, but if it did, I suppose it could be seen as like a sequel-ish to this story. :)**


	12. Step 12

**So, I accidentally turned out an uber-long chapter. I was going to trim it but my sister intervened.**

 **This also took somewhat of a more serious turn than I was expecting - and you'll get a little peek into what's going on in Natasha's brain. :)**

 **Some of this is pretty crappy, and for that I apologize - I'm hoping tomorrow's chapter will be better. x)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

So, the whole complimenting thing hadn't gone exactly how he'd intended – he'd sort of imagined giving her a really thoughtful, genuine compliment, and her smiling and thanking him. Or at least taking him seriously.

But hey, the point of this whole list thingy was to get them to like you, right? And he'd made her laugh, which was still a step in the right direction. So, after some reflection, Clint was able to call Step 11 a success.

Tony contacted Clint again that day about the party – apparently it was going to be at Stark Tower that night, and he was inviting a pretty big crowd. Casual or semi-casual was the dress code, Clint was slightly disappointed to hear – after all, his only pair of designer jeans was covered with mud stains.

Tony's parties could be fun, or they could be just too loud and crazy (depending on what kind of mood Clint was in). But, no matter how this one turned out, there was one thing Clint could look forward to: Natasha was sure to be there. And Clint was ready to move onto Step 12:

12.) Offer to hold their purse/bag/coat/cup.

Easy.

So after a quick dinner, Clint changed into a more suitable outfit and headed to the tower.

…

There was already a sizeable crowd on the sixth floor of Stark Tower when Clint stepped off the elevator. Loud music was playing, and the bar across the room was already getting lots of business.

 _Classic Stark – up and throws a party for no reason._

His eyes scanned the space for Natasha, but he didn't see her right off. A thought struck him – what if she wasn't here?—but she could easily be somewhere hidden among the laughing, dancing, jostling crowd.

Clint started maneuvering through the exhilarated people, keeping his eyes open for the redhead. He edged around Steve, who was drinking gin but looking sober as ever, passed a group of chattering females, and almost ran into Pepper Potts.

"Clint!" she exclaimed above the music. "I'm so glad you could make it!"

"Yeah, thanks," he said distractedly, head swiveling around the room. _Where is she?_

"Are you looking for someone?" Pepper asked.

Clint quickly stopped craning his head around. "Uh, no," he fibbed. Then he added, "Is Natasha here?" _Yeah, way to be subtle, moron._

"Natasha? Oh, no, not yet. She said she was going to be late."

"Oh," Clint said, disappointed.

"Anyway, I gotta go find Tony," Pepper said. She patted him on the shoulder. "Good to see you, Barton!" she said, moving past him.

"Yeah, you too," Clint said to no one in particular. He sighed and turned his steps toward the bar.

Steve joined him at the bar a when he was three gulps into a beer.

"Hey, how's it going, Barton?" the supersoldier greeted.

"Hey," Clint said absently.

Steve asked for a refill on his gin. "Hey, did you hear about those HYRDA uprisings that were going on a week or so ago?"

Clint nodded, taking another swallow of beer.

"Well, it's starting to look like those weren't HYDRA-sanctioned attacks at all – it's looking like they might've been rogue outbreaks."

Steve launched into a description of the intel that had been uncovered and what it meant for the case, but Clint was barely listening. He just said "hm" every now and then and nodded, kicking at the legs of his barstool.

He was busy thinking about Natasha – and that irritated him a little, actually. Because, seriously, when had she become all he could think about in his waking hours? It seemed like she was on his mind 24/7 these days, and there was nothing he could do about it.

 _Goddamn it, Natasha – what did you do to me?_

He was finally startled out of his reverie when he heard her name.  
"What?" he asked Steve, glancing hopefully out the dark window.

"I said, Romanoff just got here."

Clint's gaze shot to the elevators. His heart leapt when he caught a glimpse of red hair through the maze of people. Then the crowd parted, and he got a good look at her, walking across the room, dressed in expensive jeans and a white blouse. _(I had expensive jeans, too, once upon a time…)_ She was talking with a short, skinny man with glasses who was dressed in a business suit – Clint was pretty sure he was a representative from one of the weapons companies that Stark was affiliated with. Then the crowd closed over them again.

"I'm gonna go say hi," Steve stated, getting to his feet. He vanished into the crowd, but Clint just leaned back against the bar, grinning. He didn't need to go find her – he was sure she would make her way over to the bar in record time.

He was right.

Within a few minutes, she emerged from the crowd with the weapons rep beside her. He was talking animatedly about something, and she seemed to be listening closely.

When her eyes landed on Clint, her face brightened.

"Hey there, stranger," she said playfully, leaning onto the bar beside him.

"Hey." Clint smiled as he studied her face. Predictably, she turned to the barista and asked for a vodka.

Clint nodded at the rep who was standing a short distance away, waiting for Natasha to get her drink. "Who's that guy?"

Natasha glanced over her shoulder at him. "Oh, that's Harold, uh… Harold Somebody. He's with Hansen Tech. Apparently they're making this new line of guns that he thinks I'll be interested in."

"And are you?" Clint asked.

She nodded. "Yeah. It sounds like it's really something."

The barman slid her a drink, and she thanked him and raised it to her lips.

"Will you be able to stay here long?" Clint asked at length.

She looked at him and nodded. "Yeah." Then she jerked her head towards Harold Somebody. "I gotta get back now."

"Okay," Clint said in disappointment.

Natasha took half a step backward towards the rep, then hesitated. Her eyes were searching his, and her lips parted like she wanted to say something. Then she tossed him a quick smile, and hurried away.

Clint frowned after her. _Well that was kinda weird._

He stayed in the barstool for a few minutes, deep in thought, when suddenly he remembered The List.

 _Oh, dangit – I'm supposed to hold something for her!_

He scrambled to his feet and started weaving through the crowd, trying to find her.

It didn't take long – Clint practically had a built-in Natasha Radar. She was still talking with Harold Somebody, and taking sips of her tall glass of vodka.

Clint came up behind her and hung by her elbow, waiting for Somebody to stop talking.

She glanced up at him and half-smiled.

Clint reached toward her cup and mouthed, _Do you want me to hold that for you?_

She drew her cup away, smirking. "It's an open bar," she said, cutting into Harold's steady stream of chatter. "Go get your own."

"No, no," Clint said aloud. "I said, I can hold it for you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"Here." Clint held out his hand.

She gave him a strange look. "No, I've got it."

"Here, I don't mind." Without waiting for her to argue, Clint took the cup out of her hand. She looked at him with her brow furrowed in confusion, and seemed about to ask a question, but then Somebody started talking again, and her attention moved to him.

"It's an exclusive make," Harold was saying, "so if you want one, you'll have to get on it pretty quickly. We expect them to sell like hotcakes."

"So what kind of…" Natasha stopped and glanced at Clint, then took her drink back and took a pull. "What kind of price are we talking?" she asked. She handed the glass back to Clint.

 _Well, this is kind of awkward._

"I'm prepared to offer you a deal, since you're part of a larger company," Harold said. "Of course, I'll have to obtain consent from my superiors, but…" He droned on.

Clint looked down and noticed that the vodka was running low. "Do you want me to get you a refill?" he whispered to Natasha. She nodded without looking at him.

Clint picked his way back to the bar and slid the glass to the barista. "Top it off, please," he requested. He felt a hand on his arm, and he jumped.

"Hi," a female voice crooned into his ear.

Clint turned and found a tall blonde fluttering her eyelashes at him. He gave her an awkward smile and tried to pull away.

"What's a nice guy like yourself doing at a place like this?" the blonde went on, stepping closer to him.

"Uh…" Clint cleared his throat. "I was invited?"

She laughed like he had said something clever.

The barista slid Natasha's drink back. Clint picked it up and started to turn away.

"Wait, what's the big rush?" The blonde latched onto his arm like a leech and started tugging him towards the wall. "Stay here for a minute."

"Uh…" Clint glanced toward where Natasha was. He couldn't see her anymore. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him: had she gone somewhere else because he'd gotten on her nerves?

Clint groaned inwardly. He'd been too aggressive – made a fool of himself again.

The blonde dragged him over to the wall; and that was where he stayed for most of the night, just standing with the blonde, listening to her gush about who-knows-what, and thinking about Natasha. He hoped he hadn't annoyed her – once or twice he tried to extricate himself from the woman's clutches and find out, but she was incredibly persistent and clingy. Clint was stuck with her for the better (or worse) part of an hour.

After what seemed like two and a half weeks, Clint spied Natasha walking towards them. His momentary relief was quickly replaced by apprehension – his partner had a glass of vodka in each hand, and he could tell, even from this distance, that she was pretty tipsy. And if the Black Widow was at all intoxicated, then she had had a _lot_ to drink.

Natasha's gaze landed on the blonde at his side, and her eyes narrowed.

She came to a stop beside Clint. "There you are. I've been looking for you," she said. She set down one of her glasses and took her original drink from him, then threw her head back and chugged it. Clint watched her with mingled worry and admiration.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She set down another of her drinks and looked at him. "Yes."

But both the timbre of her voice and the way her eyes rolled around the room, fastening on nothing in particular, confirmed his suspicions.

"Excuse me." The blonde glowered at Natasha, stepping between her and Clint. _"I'm_ talking to him."

Natasha stared lazily up at her. "That seems a bit harsh."

"What?" the blonde snapped.

"You. Talking to him," Natasha said. "I mean, yeah, he's a jackass, but no one deserves _that_ kind of treatment. That's almost inhumane."

Clint stifled a laugh.

The blonde sputtered angrily, then spun on her heel and stalked away.

"Thank you," Clint said. "She was getting on my nerves."

"Me too," Natasha said. After a moment, she added, "I'm drunk."

"Yeah, I know," Clint said. "How much did you drink?"

She shrugged. "Not enough yet." She lifted the glass to her lips again.

"Whoa, wait." Clint raised a hand toward her. "You don't want to get wasted." He was starting to get concerned about her – Natasha did drink a lot, but she rarely got drunk. And if she _wanted_ to get smashed, then she was almost definitely upset about something.

Natasha lowered her cup. "Clint, sometimes getting wasted is better than dealing with real life."

Clint paused and smiled a little. He liked that she had called him by his first name – that didn't happen very often.

She started to take a drink again.

"Hey." Clint reached over and gently took the cup out of her hand. "Tell me what's wrong."

Natasha looked seriously at him for a minute. "I'm just thinking about stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Stuff I can't have."

Clint frowned. "Like what?"

Natasha hesitated, peering up at him. Then she stepped closer, and took the hem of his shirt in her hands.

Clint's stomach flipped over.

Natasha was fidgeting with his shirt, twisting it between her fingers, reminding him of a cat sharpening its claws. "Clint," she said without looking at him. "Stop asking me questions or I might just give you an honest answer for once."

Clint swallowed. _What the hell is she talking about?_ He leaned towards her to set the glass he had taken from her on a table behind her.

That was a bad idea. Seeing him tilt toward her must have thrown off her balance, because she gasped and started to fall toward him. She grabbed him by the shoulders, and he quickly caught her by the waist as her face hit his chest.

"Whoa! Sorry about that," Clint said quickly.

Natasha lifted her face from his chest, and suddenly he realized how close they were. Natasha must have noticed it too – she stiffened, and her gaze didn't quite make it all the way up to his eyes when she spoke again:

"I have to go."

Clint blinked. "Huh?"

"I should go. Before I do something stupid." She backed out of his arms.

"Are you sure you should be driving right now?"

"I'll be fine." She started to walk towards the elevators, but she stumbled again and had to grab a table for support.

Clint caught up to her. "Nat. I'm serious. Maybe you should stay in your room here tonight. I'm sure Tony wouldn't mind."

She frowned. "I'm barely drunk."

"I know. But it would make me feel better," he told her.

Natasha sighed. "Okay… if you stay the night too."

"I will," he assured her.

Natasha nodded and started towards the elevators again. Clint walked close beside her in case she should trip.

Tony always kept rooms ready in the tower for the other Avengers, so Natasha's room on the third floor was already prepared just the way she'd left it.

Clint closed the door behind them, and Natasha collapsed on the bed.

"Don't you want to change your clothes?" Clint asked as she closed her eyes.

She shook her head.

Clint paused. "Do you… want _me_ to change your clothes?"

Her eyes shot open. "No!"

"Okay, okay, sorry." _Should've kept your mouth shut, idiot._ He reached for the doorknob. "Well… I guess I'd better go, then."

"Wait," Natasha said, looking over at him. "Stay here till I fall asleep."

"'Course." Clint crossed the room to her bed and sat down beside her. She scooted over a little, and he laid down.

Then Natasha opened her eyes and took his hand.

Clint's pulse hiccupped.

Natasha pulled his hand toward her, then she froze. She lifted his hand, frowning. "What's that?"

Clint looked at his hand. On two of his fingers were reddish bite marks from where she had bit him during their sparring match. She had bit him pretty hard – it hadn't quite healed yet.

"Uh… you bit me," Clint said awkwardly.

Natasha stared at the marks for a minute. Then she raised his hand to her mouth and kissed the injury.

Clint jumped, annoyed at the rush of pleasure that washed through him.

Natasha looked up at him, and he could see her green eyes in the dim light. "Sorry 'bout that," she mumbled. She kissed his fingers again.

"It's okay," Clint murmured distractedly, trying to ignore how his heart was racing.

Natasha kissed his fingers a few more times. Then she sighed and closed her eyes again. She was asleep within seconds.

Clint stayed with her for a long time, deep in thought, before finally retiring to his own room.

* * *

 **So... yeah. Natasha's been thinking about "stuff she can't have"... any idea what that means? x)**

 **Also REVIEWS! Your reviews are awesome! You are all so nice and encouraging and asdfghjkl thank you. Thank you for keeping me inspired. :D**

 **Talia out!**


	13. -BREAK-

**So, this chapter isn't actually a Step - it was going to be, but dealing with the aftermath of Last Night ended up taking more words than I thought.**

 **So for now, I'm just going to clean up their messes, and Step Thirteen will (hopefully) get written tomorrow.**

 **Enjoy! :D**

* * *

When Clint woke up the next morning, sunlight was already filtering through the windows, making bright rectangles on the floor. He groaned and pulled the covers at his head, and stayed there for a while to collect his thoughts.

He was at Stark's, he recalled. (He wondered whether Tony even knew he was there.) Natasha was here, too – just that little reminder was enough motivation for his to toss the covers off his head and sit up.

Then everything she had said to him the night before came flooding back: _'Clint, sometimes getting wasted is better than dealing with real life'… 'I'm just thinking about stuff I can't have'… 'Stop asking me questions or I might just give you an honest answer for once'…_ Last night he'd been pretty tired, and maybe a little buzzed, so he'd been more confused than anything by her comments. But now he was able to examine the facts more clearly, and the evidence worried him.

Because, if Natasha wanted to get stoned, then something was definitely eating her. And Drunk Natasha was probably the most candid Natasha there was. Something was wrong – and now he was starting to wish he'd questioned her more extensively last night, when he could depend on her answers to be truthful. Though, on second thought, that would have been underhanded of him. Maybe he'd ask her a few questions this morning.

Unless she'd already left?

 _Aw, no!_

Clint vaulted out of bed and hastened to his closet for a fresh set of clothing. Leaving before he had a chance to question her sounded exactly like something she would do.

…

But when he strode into the kitchen, Natasha was sitting at the far corner of the table, looking at something on her phone. Clint could tell she had showered and changed her clothes, and she didn't look the least bit hungover. He knew her too well for that to surprise him anymore.

And apparently, the two of them were not the only ones who had decided to spend the night – Bruce was dozing in a chair at the end of the table, and Steve, looking clean and refreshed, stood by the stove, frying up a skillet of sizzling bacon. Tony was slouched down in his seat, hair mussed and clothes rumpled, and Pepper sat next to him, looking slightly hungover but still pleasant.

"Morning, Clint," she said amiably as he strolled into the room.

"Morning," he replied. Natasha locked eyes with him for a split second, then she looked down at her phone again. Seeing the green of her eyes gave Clint a sudden flashback to the night before, when they'd been laying on her bed and she'd taken his hand… he could still remember how soft her lips had felt when she'd kissed his knuckles. A shiver ran down his spine.

 _Snap out of it, you weirdo, she was drunk at the time!_

A row of cereal boxes was sitting out on the counter, so Clint got out a bowl and poured himself a helping of what looked like overbaked granola. Then he got himself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the table next to Natasha.

"Hey," he greeted as he slid into the seat.

She looked up and gave him a quick smile. "Hi."

They lapsed into silence as Clint ate his cereal. No one at the table seemed inclined to talk; all of them were bushed from last night's party, even Tony seemed too busy watching three Alka-Seltzers dissolve into his water to make one of his signature wisecracks.

Clint had barely finished his cereal when Natasha spoke again.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?"

Clint looked up. "Yeah, totally."

She nodded and stood up, heading out of the kitchen. Clint grabbed his half-empty coffee cup and followed.

They stopped at the end of the hall, by a floor-to-ceiling window. Clint waited as Natasha looked out onto the busy, sunlit street, then she turned to face him.

"Look, Barton… I'm just gonna get straight to the point."

 _Barton. So we're back to last-name basis._

"I'm sure you're wondering why I wanted to get plastered last night."

"It's crossed my mind, yeah."

Natasha nodded, folding her arms. "Well, the truth is… I've kinda had a rough couple days. I've been working on a daily basis, I've been a little short on sleep, and, honestly, I think I just needed a break."

Clint nodded slowly. It made sense – Natasha had been at work every day for a while, and he could see where she might start to get rundown. But, if that was the case, it just seemed like she would've said so last night. ' _Clint, stop asking me questions or I might just give you an honest answer for once'…_ That sounded like something bigger than just work-related problems.

As if she had read his thoughts, Natasha scratched the side of her head and added, "I think I was more bombed than I thought last night, so if I said anything that sounded weird, it was just the alcohol talking. Seriously, you don't need to worry about me."

Okay, so _that_ made sense… but Clint still wasn't entirely sure he believed her. There was a niggling suspicion in the back of his mind: If Natasha had said more than she meant to say while she was drunk, then he had a feeling she would spend the morning inventing an excuse for her words, then tell him the lie so smoothly that he wouldn't question it. And there was a good chance that was exactly what she was doing right now.

He thought to call her on it, but he stopped himself. If, _if_ that was the case, then she obviously didn't want to talk about whatever was going on. And he didn't want to pry into her private affairs if she didn't want him to know about it.

He finally spoke. "Okay. But if something _was_ wrong… you'd tell me. Wouldn't you?"

"Nothing's wrong," she said instantly. "I was just—"

"Natasha." Clint took a step closer to her, and she went still. "I'm gonna be perfectly honest with you, I don't believe what you're telling me. I'm not going to press you for answers, but I will say this – if you change your mind about telling me, I'm here for you. Okay? I'm always here for you, Tasha." His voice softened as he searched her face. "Don't you forget it."

Natasha dropped her eyes. She stared down at his shoes for a minute without speaking.

"You're, uh… you're wrong," she murmured. "I'm telling you the truth." She looked up at him. "But thank you for saying that, anyway."

Clint nodded. There was a long silence.

"Oh, and um, about last night," Natasha said abruptly. She smiled up at him, but he got the impression that it was forced. "I will say this; thanks for looking out for me, but, um… beyond that, I'd appreciate it if you just forgot about last night. Just, forget it." She forced another smile. "I said some stuff I shouldn't have said, and I think I did some stuff that was pretty stupid."

"You didn't do anything stupid," Clint assured her.

There was a fleeting moment where Natasha's eyes flashed down toward his left hand, then she quickly looked out the window. "Well, even so."

Clint flexed his hand back and looked down at the fading bite marks on his fingers. _So, there's at least one thing she remembers…_ He felt his face grow warm. Natasha's cheeks had gone faintly rosy, and she was studying the windowsill so closely you'd think she'd become an expert in window architecture overnight.

"Anyways," Clint said hurriedly, trying to cover the awkward moment. "I should probably go home now…"

Natasha looked up at him and frowned. "You're not staying?"

Clint paused. "Huh?"

"Stark invited us all to stay the day, if we could. I think he wants to hang out again tonight, just the six of us."

"Oh." Clint thought for a moment. "Are _you_ staying?" _Oh, geez, way to be subtle, bro._ "I mean—not that it matters much—"

"I'm staying."

"Okay," Clint said. "Then I guess I'll stay."

Natasha smiled, and this time it was genuine. "Okay…"

"Okay. Hey, I'm gonna take a shower, and then we should hang out in the Rec Room. Want to?" Clint suggested.

"Meet you there."

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed that! I was actually kindof proud of it myself. x)**

 **And thanks so much for the reviews! I'm glad you liked the last chapter - it's so fun to hear your thoughts about where this story is headed, especially since I have only the vaguest idea myself! xD**

 **Have a wonderful day, and I'll try to get Step 13 out tomorrow morning - I'm really excited about this next Step! :D**


	14. Step 13

**Step 13 is finally heeere! xD  
**

 **We lost power because of a storm - so it was just raining and we had candles burning and I was drinking tea and AH it was the perfect atmosphere for writing. ^-^**

 **Anyways, obviously our power's back now cause I'm posting this - I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Hope you guys like it too! x)**

* * *

Clint had a lot to think about during his shower. Namely, what was wrong with Natasha and why she wouldn't tell him. But after mulling over it for a while (i.e., coming up with a list of hideous things that could be going on), he finally decided not to worry about it. Obviously, Natasha had her own way of coping with the problem, and he was sure that if it was something _really_ bad, she would tell him. (Or at least, he was _pretty_ sure.)

As he changed, his mind returned to the Google article. He considered not taking the next Step today, since Natasha was apparently going through some rough times, and now might not be the time to hit on her.

But when he checked the list, he saw that Step 13 was:

13.) Touch them, casually, on the arm or knee when you're talking to them.

And while this idea simultaneously excited him and scared the crap out of him, there was at least one good reason why he should proceed with it:

As he'd already covered, Natasha was pretty protective of her personal space, but right now, touching her might be a good thing. She was dealing with a tough situation, and even though she would never admit it, physical contact might be comforting for her right now.

So Clint decided to go ahead with Step Thirteen. He finished changing, then headed up to the Rec Room where Natasha was waiting.

…

The Rec Room was on the fifth floor of Stark Tower. The entire level was floored with hardwood, and there were few or no windows, probably to avoid glares on all the TV screens. As a result, the rooms were very dim, and had to be lit artificially.

When Clint stepped off the elevator into the hall, he could hear noises coming from one of said TVs, and the flickering light from the screen played on the wall in the hallway. Clint followed the noise through the first doorway.

The main room was furnished with several game tables; a pool table, a foosball table, and a ping-pong table, to name a few. There was a little cocktail bar at one end of the room, and at the other end, a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Facing the TV was a couch, and on the couch was Natasha Romanoff.

She looked up and smirked at him as he walked in, then muted the TV. Clint stood in the middle of the room for a minute, hands in his pockets, smiling back at her.

"How was your shower?" she asked playfully, quirking an eyebrow.

Clint nodded. "It was good. They have good showers here. They have good _everything_ here. Wait, why do we not live here again?"

"Because Stark lives here," Natasha said promptly.

 _"Oh,_ that's right. Forgot about that," Clint quipped. "Guess they have good _almost_ everything here."

Natasha chuckled and shook her head.

"So!" Clint clapped. "What do you wanna play first?" He glanced hopefully at the dartboard on the wall.

"Not darts," Natasha said, standing up. She strode past him, and he caught a whiff of her shampoo.

 _Focus, Barton._

"What!" he exclaimed, turning toward her. "Why not darts?"

Natasha snorted as she headed towards the game tables."Uhh, because it's literally impossible for you to lose at darts?"

Clint trailed forward in Natasha's wake. "Fair enough. What then?"

Natasha stopped beside a table, then leaned her hip against it and crossed her arms, smirking at him. "Pool."

Clint grinned at her. "Sounds good to me." He joined his partner by the pool table and they both selected cue sticks.

Natasha twisted the billiard chalk on the tip of her stick. "Ready to get your ass kicked, Barton?"

Clint scoffed and shook his head. "As if. Nah, I have a feeling about this game. I think I'm gonna win."

Fifteen minutes later, his feeling turned out to be wrong.

After the first game, they played another round, and Natasha won again.

It wasn't necessarily that Clint was sidetracked by the redhead – Natasha was just really good at pool. They both were, really, but for Natasha, there were more situations on the field where she had to play pool while undercover, so she got more practice than he did.

He wasn't losing _because_ he was watching her… although he certainly was watching her. In pool, there were just so many opportunities for him to look at her without compromising his game – when she stopped to re-chalk her stick, and throw sarcastic lines at him. When she was leaning over the table, preparing to take a shot, the way her brow wrinkled in concentration, and she bit her lip as she focused. And after she made a shot, the triumphant smirk she tossed his way.

"All these victories are going to go to your head," Clint complained after her third win. "Let's play something else."

Natasha leaned against her cue stick and smirked at him, raising her eyebrows. "Afraid you're gonna lose to me again, Barton?"

"Course not," Clint said. "I just wanna play foosball now."

Natasha rolled her eyes but put her cue stick away. "Both of us are bad at foosball."

Clint shrugged. "Well, this is a good chance for us to get better."

"Suit yourself." Natasha headed for the foosball table. "I still say you're trying to get out of losing, though."

"Well, to be fair, you won that last round by a hair," Clint defended himself, following her to the table. "Plus, I'm pretty sure my cue stick was slightly bent. I think it was the one Thor sat on."

(The real reason he was so determined to play foosball was because he knew it would be easier for him to stop staring at Natasha in a more high-energy game.)

He was right. Because, even though neither of them was very good at foosball, they both really got into it, hitting the ball as hard as they could, jumping between the handles, and shouting back and forth to each other. Clint kept grabbing the ends of Natasha's bars to tick her off, and she would retaliate by using her bar to jab him in the stomach.

By the time they had finished three rounds (Clint won two, Natasha one), they were both out of breath and damp with perspiration.

Clint collapsed into the corner of the couch, and Natasha flopped down next to him.

"I really think we're getting better at that game," Clint said, once their breathing had evened out.

Natasha snorted lightly. "Five of my points in that last game were from you hitting the ball into my goal."

"That's because I kept getting confused about which side was mine! Why does it have to keep changing every game?" Clint complained.

Natasha turned her head over to look at him, amusement in her eyes. "I didn't write the rules, hotshot."

Clint grinned. Then he happened to glance down the couch, and it suddenly occurred to him that, even though it was a pretty long couch, Natasha had sat down _right_ next to him. And then he remembered that he'd never gone through with Step 13.

"I wonder what time it is," Natasha was saying.

Clint glanced at his watch. "It's eleven-thirty." He paused. _Come on, just do it._ "Wanna go see what the others are up to?"

As he spoke, he reached down and grasped her knee.

Natasha's leg jerked, and he snatched his hand back, his face going hot.

Natasha looked swiftly at him. "Don't do that."

Clint was burning with embarrassment – until he detected something in her manner. He saw a flash of something in her eyes, caught a certain quality in her tone, and it gave him pause. Then she looked away, and he lost sight of it.

"Last I heard, Stark and Banner were in the lab," Natasha went on. "I don't know where Steve and Pepper are though – I guess Pepper may have gone down to Stark Industries."

"Yeah, maybe," Clint agreed. He was watching her out of the corner of his eye, trying to catch a hint of what he had seen a moment before. He couldn't see it though; and he started to wonder whether he had seen it at all.

Well, there was only one way to be sure…

"We should find out if they're eating lunch yet," Natasha said.

"Why?" Clint asked. "Are you hungry?"

 _I better be right about this, or else I might be missing a hand by the time I get home._

He reached down and squeezed her leg again.

Natasha jumped, and she turned towards him again. "Stop it!"

And he noticed it again, the tenor of her voice, the spark in her eyes, and this time he was certain.

She was laughing.

And that was when it clicked.

A memory stirred in his mind, a sparring session years before, when he'd discovered something about her by accident. He'd forgotten all about it, and now it had suddenly hit him again.

Natasha Romanoff was ticklish.

Natasha must have seen the realization in his face, because she suddenly drew her legs up to her chest and turned her body towards him on the couch, keeping her knees out of his reach. "Barton," she said, but it didn't sound like she was warning him so much as daring him.

"What?" he asked innocently, a grin spreading across his face.

Natasha's mouth quirked into a smile, and she started steadily backing up towards the opposite end of the couch.

Clint's grin broadened.

In one fluid motion, Clint grabbed her ankles and dragged her toward him. She cried out in surprise as she fell onto her back, and then he launched himself forward, landing with his hands on the couch on either side of her, and his face inches from hers.

Natasha's eyes went wide, and her breathing quickened. Then she laughed lightly. "Get _off_ , you dummy!" she exclaimed; but she made no move to push him away.

There was one small sane part of Clint's mind that was screaming at him to stop, that he was coming on way too strong. But then Natasha was laughing again, and he could feel her breath on his face, and a challenge was sparkling in her eyes. And his pulse rate was spiking, and he could feel her body heat issuing off of her as she watched him, waiting for him to act.

So he convinced himself that they were just playing, that he was just teasing her as a friend. And then he dropped onto her and grabbed her wrists.

Then she did start struggling. "Barton," she panted. "I swear, I'm gonna kill you!"

Clint just laughed, redoubling his efforts. She was putting up a good fight, but based on how most of their sparring sessions turned out, he knew she wasn't fighting him quite as hard as she could.

They were both almost out of breath from laughing when he finally managed to wrestle her hands behind her head. "Barton, stop it!" she cried, and her voice cracked with laughter at the end, the way Clint had always found endearing.

Clint grinned. "What are you gonna do about it?" he taunted, crossing her wrists over her head. She laughed breathlessly and tossed a curl off her forehead. Clint used one hand to press both her wrists into the couch, then he moved his free hand slowly toward her ribcage, grinning mischievously at her.

She started squirming. "Don't do it, oh god, _stop!"_ she laughed, squeezing her eyes shut.

Clint just chuckled. Then he lightly tickled her ribs.

Natasha screamed with laughter, twitching away from him. "Barton, cut it out!"

Clint didn't cut it out.

"Clint!" she wheezed. "Clint, _stop!"_

Clint paused to join in with her laughter, bracing his palm on the couch beside her.

Then suddenly Natasha stopped laughing.

She opened her eyes and looked right at him. "Oh my god Clint, stop it," she breathed. "Stop it right now."

Her voice sounded much different now, and Clint froze.

He barely had time to wonder if he'd taken it too far, if she was mad at him, when he learned the real reason why she had stopped him.

"Oh my gosh." There was a clattering sound by the door, and Clint's head snapped up. Steve was standing there, looking shocked.

"I am so sorry," the supersoldier said, his face going bright red. "I'm really sorry – I just – I came to see if – I mean—"

Heat flushed Clint's face as he realized how they must look to Steve. He scrambled up off of Natasha and she sat up, hurriedly adjusting her hair.

Steve was mumbling on, saying something about "sorry" and "fondue", and Clint interrupted him.

"Look, Rogers, it's fine. We weren't – I mean, we weren't about to – er—" He looked at Natasha for help, but she was staring at the floor, rapidly twisting her hair between her fingers.

 _Oh, yeah, that definitely makes this look LESS suspicious. Thanks, partner._

"Sorry," Steve said again. "I should probably, uh… probably go now." He backed hastily out the door.

As soon as he was gone Clint looked quickly at Natasha. She was still gazing at the floor, and her face was flushed. He wondered again if she was mad at him.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, sorry. About that," he said awkwardly. "I mean, uh… Yeah. Um, that was, sorry."

Natasha lowered her face into her hand. Then she started snickering.

Clint stared at her for a minute. Then relief washed through him, and he joined in. Their chuckling started out small, but pretty soon, they were both flopped back onto the couch, dissolving in gales of laughter. Clint looked at Natasha, loving how her eyes and nose crinkled up when she laughed this hard.

Finally she sat up, wiping her eyes. "Wow."

Clint shook his head, grinning. "I can't believe he thought—"

"I know!" Natasha agreed. "Because, first of all, why would you be on top?"

Clint froze. "Wait what?"

Natasha smirked and leapt to her feet. "Come on, let's go get lunch," she said. She started stalking toward the door.

Clint just stared at her

She stopped in the doorway and glanced back at him. "Coming?"

Clint blinked. "Uh, yep." He got hastily to his feet and followed her to the elevators.

* * *

 **So yeah, stuff is happening now! :D**

 **I actually came up with the idea for this chapter when I was half-asleep, then I woke up and was like "ha ha that's dumb. i'm gonna write it"**

 **OH and thank you so much to my reviewers!,!,! Seriously you guys are the best, and everyone who has followed/favorited this story, you are all my favorite people.**

 **Special shoutout to Mockingjay500 and Buu22 - like seriously, whenever you guys review freaking out and having feels attacks, like, it just makes me so ridiculously happy like you don't even know. xD I love that I can give feels to people all over the world it just it really makes my day :D**

 **THANK YOU ALL FOR EXISTING BYE**


	15. Step 14

**Sorry I didn't post yesterday! My computer developed a glitch, and I had to spend literal hours downloading this thingy to fix it...**

 **Anyways that's boring. So I'm rather unsatisfied with this chapter overall, but I feel like it has some good bits, too. I'm so glad you guys are liking this story - I'm pretty fond of it myself. xD**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Clint and Natasha didn't discuss what had happened between them when they headed down to the dining room for lunch. Without any kind of discussion on the subject, they seemed to have reached a nonverbal agreement that, "what happens in the Rec Room, stays in the Rec Room".

They reached the kitchen to find the others preparing a light lunch. As soon as they entered the room, it was clear from the winks and nudges that passed between the others that Steve had told his story.

 _Oh boy. Here we go._

He glanced at Natasha to gauge whether she had caught onto the looks they were getting, but she either didn't notice or just ignored them.

Tony at least had the decency to wait until they had both gotten their food and sat down before he started interrogating them.

"So," the billionaire began, grinning at them down the table. "Steve tells us you two were having fun in the Rec Room."

Clint felt warmth rising to his face, but despite his discomfort, he managed to answer calmly.

"Yeah, we were. Nat whipped my ass at pool a few times, and we both failed at foosball. It was awesome."

(He mentally congratulated himself on not one, not two, but three such well-constructed sentences. _Nice._ )

"Really? She did? She whipped your ass?" Tony went on. He shook his head in feigned disbelief. "I mean, I'm not surprised you like it kinky, but—"

"Shut it, Stark," Clint growled, growing hotter. "Nothing happened. We were just playing."

"Really? You were playing?" Tony raised his eyebrows. "How many times did you play, huh? Four? Did you play four times? Four plays? As in, foreplay?"

Clint was growing steadily more uncomfortable, and he could tell his face was glowing. He glanced at Natasha, but she was calmly sipping her water as if she couldn't hear them.

"You're blushing, Birdbrain," Tony said, waggling his eyebrows. "Do I sense a—"

"Stark, you see that fork that Bruce is putting in his mouth?" Natasha interrupted coolly. (Tony glanced at the fork.) "I can have it protruding from your jugular in under two seconds."

No one spoke again after that.

As he ate his lunch, an idea occurred to Clint. Step 13 had gone well – although it had gone much differently from how he'd expected it to go. He'd meant to just casually touch his partner, but instead he'd gotten so close to her… He couldn't stop thinking about her breath on his neck, her laughter, how warm and solid she had felt beneath him…

Of course, in the moment, he'd been more focused on the physical interaction that was happening between them – but he would've been lying if he'd said it hadn't crossed his mind to kiss her while she was in that position. In fact, it had crossed his mind more than once – to fling caution to the wind and just _kiss_ her, crush her mouth under his, show her how much she meant to him without worrying about the consequences…

But, ahem. Anyway… Step 13. It had gone well. And normally he wouldn't have attempted two Steps in one day, but considering how well Step 13 had gone, and also considering the fact that he and Natasha were going to be spending the whole rest of the day together, he figured he might as well go ahead. Why not?

So, once he finished eating, he stepped away from the table to ensure that Natasha wouldn't see the screen of his phone, and he pulled up the List. Step 14 read:

14.) Make up a nickname for them. Be the only one who calls them that.

Clint looked thoughtfully at his phone, then glanced at his partner. Maybe he should just skip this one. After all, he already had several nicknames for her: "Nat", "Tasha", "Tash", and sometimes "Widow".

Did anyone else call her by those names? He tried to remember. He knew other people called her "Nat". And obviously, lots of people called her "Widow", though as a title rather than as a nickname. But he was pretty sure he was the only one who called her "Tash" and "Tasha". So maybe he should just skip this one.

But no, he'd never skipped a step before. Not when he'd had to 'accidentally' touch her, even though she was mad at him. Not when he'd had to randomly say her name while he was talking to her. Not ever.

Besides, this Step just seemed so easy, especially compared to some of the others. He didn't want to skip _any_ steps, but especially not an _easy_ step.

So he decided to do it.

He would come up with a new nickname for her.

…

Clint spent all afternoon trying to come up with a nickname worthy of the Black Widow. And, more importantly, something she wouldn't hate. He knew better than to call her terms of endearment like "sweetie", "honey", "babe"; stuff normal people called each other. Sometimes he called her that in jest, and she didn't mind, but if he was trying to think of a real, legit nickname, something he could call her seriously, so he knew it would be a good idea to steer clear of those types of names.

He even Google-searched nickname ideas, and turned up with some interesting ones, including Boo, Button, Angel, Donut, Bub, Wifey, Hot Stuff, Hot Mama, Cookie, Lamb, Cupcake, Pooh, Sprinkles, and Peach. (He had no desire to test out any of these names on Natasha; he wasn't suicidal. He did laugh, though, imagining her initial reaction if he walked up to her and said, "Hey, what's up, Donut?" or perhaps, "How's it going, Hot Mama?")

By the time the six of them were gathered around the kitchen table, eating a quick supper, Clint still hadn't come up with a good nickname yet. He was starting to lose hope – and patience – but fortunately, Tony was able to distract him with a proposition.

"So, the real reason why I wanted you guys to stay all day," the billionaire said, "was so I could show you my spot."

"Your 'spot' should be for Pepper's eyes only," Clint grumbled.

"Payback," Natasha said into her cup.

Tony ignored them. "There's this really nice place a few miles outside of the city. Everybody hurry up and finish eating, cause we're going on a road trip!"

His exclamation was met with less enthusiasm than he'd probably hoped for.

"I don't know, Tony. I think maybe I should head home," Bruce said doubtfully.

"Yeah, same here," Steve put in.

Tony looked scandalized. "No, you've got to come see it! Believe me, you'll love it!"

"I don't know, Stark," Natasha began—

"I'm bringing booze," Tony informed her.

Natasha sighed in defeat. "Fine… I'll go." Then she paused, and her brow furrowed. "Wait. Where exactly are we going again?"

After a forty-five minute car drive, in one of Tony's sports cars and Steve's pickup truck, they arrived at the place, and the other Avengers began to realize what Tony was so excited about.

Tony's 'spot' was a meadow of about ten to fifteen acres, framed on all sides by a dark border of trees. The grass was long and soft, and it caught the light of the sun, which was sinking below the horizon. Small insects and bits of dandelion fluff floated on the air, and the twittering of birds filled the gloaming with a sort of natural music.

Tony and Steve parked in the grass, and the Avengers (and Pepper) slowly filed out into the clearing.

"Okay," Bruce said slowly. "I can see why you like this place."

After they had stood in the tall grass for several minutes, admiring the area, Tony fulfilled his promise and broke out several bottles of beer. They all sat in the back of Steve's truck and sipped the beverage as they watched the last hints of sunlight sneak out of the sky.

"We should sing something," Tony remarked at length.

Natasha glared at him. "Are you nuts? I'm not singing."

Tony grinned. _"Country rooooads,"_ he sang, _"take me hoooome…"_

Natasha groaned. _"No._ Shut up."

Clint started smiling. _"To the plaaaace,"_ he joined in, _"I beloooong…"_

Natasha glowered at him. He shrugged.

Pepper, Steve, and Bruce joined in on the next line, and Tony started the first verse. Natasha was rolling her eyes, but Clint noticed that she sang the chorus the third time around.

Finally, the sun had set completely, and the fireflies started rising from the grass as the stars shimmered into focus above. Tony had brought a light-up Frisbee ("I am NOT immature! It lights up so you can see it in the dark!), so the four guys tossed it back and forth to each other in the wide space while Pepper and Natasha chatted on the roof of Tony's sports car. (Unsurprisingly, Steve was the best at Frisbee-throwing.)

Clint was really starting to enjoy himself – this was the least Stark-like Stark Party he'd ever been to (not that _all_ of Tony's party sucked. They just weren't necessarily his idea of a good time). And as he caught the Frisbee and tossed it to Bruce, an idea was forming in his mind, a nickname. A dumb nickname, but better than any other he'd thought of.

So when Pepper finally slid off the sports car and headed over to talk to Tony, interrupting the game, Clint approached the Natasha. She had leaned back onto the car, and was absently watching the dark sky when Clint vaulted up onto the cool roof next to her.

"Know any constellations?" he teased, lying down beside her. She smirked and closed her eyes, as he tucked his hands behind his head.

"No, I do not want you to show me the Big Dipper," she said dryly. "I've heard that one before."

Clint flushed. "Uh, no, that's not – I wasn't—" He broke off when she started laughing.

"I'm teasing you, Barton."

Clint smiled in relief. "I get enough of that from Tony."

"Enough what? Big Dipper?" she quipped. "Do tell."

Clint chuckled and shook his head. "No. Enough teasing."

"Yeah," she mused. When she propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him, her face had gone serious. "Sorry," she said quietly; and he got the sense that she wasn't apologizing for teasing him, but for what had happened in the Rec Room. Granted, not much had happened at all, but it had been enough that Tony was able to poke fun at him for it, and that was what she seemed to be sorry for: For putting him in a position where he was the butt of Tony's suggestive jokes.

He shook his head. "Don't apologize," he said; and he meant it. Because yeah, Tony's teasing had been annoying. But being that close to Natasha, playing around with her like that, making her laugh – it had been worth it.

Natasha pressed her lips together. "Look. Barton," she began slowly. "If I—"

"Stop," Clint interrupted. "It's fine. Really."

Natasha studied him for a moment.

"Let's talk about something else," Clint added.

She nodded and laid down again. "Like what?"

"Like how tomorrow is Saturday," he said, grinning.

She smiled. "Mm."

"And we get to sleep in, and we don't have to go to work," he went on.

"I might actually have to work tomorrow," she put in.

Clint looked at her. "What? Why?"

She shook her head in mystification. "Hill wants to talk to me or some crap. She probably wants me to organize paperwork again." She sighed. "I swear, the woman hates me." Clint started laughing. "Everyone at work hates me!" she added jokingly.

Clint chuckled and sat up, watching as Bruce chased the rebellious Frisbee toward the trees. "Not sure I'd go that far, Firefly," he said softly.

He heard Natasha's head turn towards him. "What?"

Clint looked apprehensively down at her. "What?"

Her brow was furrowed. "What did you call me?"

Clint frowned, pretending confusion, and shook his head. "I… don't think – I didn't—"

She sat up. "Did you call me Firefly?"

Clint started blushing again. _(Damn this blushing – why can't I just be chill and cool?)_ "Uhh…"

Natasha raised her eyebrows.

Clint looked away. "Yussss. BUT I won't do it again," he said hastily.

He kept his eyes fixed on the Frisbee game as he heard his partner lie back down.

Then she said, "Actually… I kind of like it."

Clint looked hopefully at her. She smiled up at him.

Clint started grinning. "Okay…" he said.

He laid back down again, and they both watched the fireflies dance through the air, blending with the twinkling stars.

* * *

 **Thank you so much to all my reviewers/followers/favoriters!**

 **Buu22 - Oh my gosh it's so funny because I was literally going to make Tony walk in on them but then I was like, you know what, Tony would probably tease them and make them uncomfortable, but STEVE would be suuuper awkward and uncomfortable himself, and that would make them feel twice as uncomfortable! xD I'm glad you liked that lil development. x)**

 **ALSO TO THE GUEST REVIEWER WHO SAID THEY LOVED ME: HELLO FRIEND I LOVE YOU BLESS YOU FOR A KIND HUMAN BEING AND OVERALL SUPERB LIFE FORM**

 **EVERYBODY HAVE A NICE WEEKEND AHHH I'M SO GLAD IT'S THE WEEKEND!,!,!**


	16. Step 15

**Greetings!**

 **I'm actually surprisingly happy with how this turned out. Hope you guys like it too! :D**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

When Clint woke up the next morning in his own house, the first thing he did was look at the List (well, after opening his eyes and all that, obviously). He was elated with the results of the last two Steps, and he was eager to move on to the next one.

Step 15 was:

15.) Give them a gift.

As soon as he read those words, Clint started smiling.

 _Yeah, perfect!_

There was something he'd been thinking about getting Natasha for a while now, a certain… gift, you might call it, that he thought she would like. He just lacked initiative, but here was the perfect opportunity for him to do it.

So, after a quick breakfast, Clint left his home and headed into town. Boy was Natasha going to be surprised.

…

He made one stop – it wasn't a quick stop, but the results were satisfactory. Then he headed straight to HQ. He left the gift in his car while he entered the base.

Clint walked through the halls of the base, keeping a lookout for any flashes of red hair. The base wasn't crowded, which was pretty normal for a Saturday, but there were enough people that he was constantly craning his neck around small crowds, searching for his petite partner.

"Hey, Barton!"

A familiar voice caught his attention from ahead, and then he saw Agent George Mayer heading down the hall towards him.

"How's it going, Mayer?" he called in reply.

"Just fine," the field agent said, coming steadily closer to the archer. "I can't stop now, got a meeting, but it's great to see you." He clapped Clint on the shoulder as he passed.

"Nice to see you, too," Clint said over his shoulder. He started to continue on his way.

"Hey, if you're looking for Romanoff, she's in the break room!" Mayer called after him.

Clint froze. _How the hell did he know?_

He turned, started to ask, but Mayer had already turned a corner and was out of sight.

Clint shrugged and turned his steps toward the break room. _Huh. I wonder how he knew. I mean, it's not like Natasha's 90% of the reason why I even come here._

 _Wait… is she!?_

He had reached the break room, so he quickly pushed these thoughts aside and stepped in.

Natasha was sitting at the small table with Maria Hill. There was a well-worn folder sitting in front of the assassin, as well as an untouched cup of coffee. She was sitting back in her chair, crossing her arms and scowling, looking pissed as Hill talked animatedly to her, smirking and occasionally sipping her coffee.

"Well whether or not it's, quote, _legitimate,"_ Hill was saying when Clint entered. "We're all really happy about it. Even Fury, although he won't admit it. Guy just said "Give her the file", like he doesn't owe me eighty bucks. We have to be professional about it, but—"

Clint took a step forward and cleared his throat. Both heads snapped towards him, and Natasha quickly set her elbows on the table, so that her forearms covered the title of the folder in front of her. Clint's sharp eyes caught the sequence "oyee frater" before the words were hidden from his view.

"Barton! Hey! It's great to see you," Hill said brightly, beaming at him. Clint blinked in surprise – Hill wasn't _unfriendly,_ per se, but she wasn't usually this… smiley.

"Uh… hey," he said in confusion.

"I don't think we were expecting you to come in today. Do you have a meeting?" Hill went on, as Natasha glared reproachfully at the tabletop.

"Uh… nope," Clint said clumsily. _I just came to give Nat a present… yeah, that sounds real cool._ "I just, uh… came to talk to Nat," he amended. "Hey, Nat," he added awkwardly.

She looked up and gave him a tight smile.

"Well, in that case…" Hill grinned at Natasha. "I'll leave you to it." She stood up and snagged her coffee cup off the table. "Good luck, Barton." She patted him on the shoulder as she headed out.

Clint stood there in confusion for a minute. Natasha watched him without speaking.

Clint slowly cleared his throat. "What was—? Why does everyone keep—?" He vaguely touched his shoulder, trying to figure out if everyone was being unusually nice to him, or if he was imagining things.

Something was definitely up, based on how Natasha was acting – but she wasn't mad at him. He could tell. If she was mad at him, she wouldn't have even bothered smiling at him when he said hello to her.

Natasha sighed. "Sit down," she said wearily, nodding at the seat Hill had vacated.

Clint settled into the seat, watching his partner in bewilderment. "What's going on?" he asked. He glanced at the file beneath Natasha's arms, and her fingers twitched under his gaze. He met her eyes again, waiting.

"Nothing," she said, running a hand through her hair. "I just… Hill wants me to come in on Monday… Apparently they have this new regulation with the younger recruits where they want them to go through some kind of arithmetical program." She raised an eyebrow. "Apparently someone decided that I'm the most qualified to manage this program, so tomorrow I'm directing a session on currency conversion?"

"Oh," Clint said, frowning. Honestly, he wasn't a hundred percent sure what she was talking about. "So, wait – you have to do this every week?"

Natasha shook her head, looking appalled at the idea. "No! No, it's a one-time thing. I'm just teaching this one lesson on Monday."

"Teaching a lesson?" Clint repeated. A slow smile spread across his face. "Wait – so you'll basically be like a math teacher?"

"Shut up," Natasha snapped. "I'm not a math teacher. It's _currency conversion."_

"I.E., math," Clint said again, grinning.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but again he got the sense that she wasn't genuinely angry with him.

"Hey, you should stop by," she said after a moment. "You've never been good at currency conversion. Maybe you could learn something."

Clint was about to decline, but he stopped himself. A chance to watch Natasha Romanoff teach a math class?

"Maybe I will," he said instead, raising his eyebrows.

A smile tugged at the corner of Natasha's mouth.

Clint looked at her in surprise. "Wait – so you aren't upset about this?"

She frowned. "Why should I be?"

"Uh…" _Because you seemed kind of pissed off when I got here?_ "I don't know?" He sat back in his chair. "So then, what are you upset about?"

Natasha's frown deepened, and her eyes briefly clipped the file under her arm. "I'm not. What are you talking about?"

Clint nodded at the folder. "What's that?"

She looked down at it, but didn't move her arm. "It's a comprehensive file on the recruits program."

"Can I see it?" Clint extended his hand.

Natasha glared at him. Ok, so _now_ she was mad at him.

"What do you want, Barton?" she growled. "Why are you here?"

Clint drew his hand back. _You know what, forget it._ Natasha obviously didn't want to talk about whatever-it-was, and he had no right to force her. He just hoped everything was okay.

Then her question clicked in his mind, and he jumped to his feet.

"Oh right! I got something for you," he said, grinning.

Natasha frowned up at him. "What?"

"I got you something. Come on, come see." He hastened to the door and started down the hallway without waiting to see if she was behind him.

Shortly afterward, she fell into step beside him. "Where are we going?"

"Parking garage," Clint said. "I left it in the car. Good thing it's not too hot out." He felt her puzzled gaze on the side of his face, and he grinned, enjoying her confusion.

"Why?" she asked finally.

Clint raised his eyebrows mysteriously. "You'll see."

They reached the garage within a couple minutes. Clint led the way to his car, and approached the passenger side door, fumbling with his keys. Natasha hung back

"This had better be good, Barton," she warned. "I'm not in the mood to deal with your stupid stunts today."

Clint's smile grew as he opened the door, and lifted out a cardboard box with holes punched into the top. He set it on the ground.

"What—" Natasha froze, and her eyes grew huge. "Oh my god. Is that an _animal?"_

"Yep," Clint said proudly.

"Barton, what the hell!" Natasha exploded, a scowl forming on her face. "Did you get me a _pet?"_

Clint's smile faltered. She wasn't reacting as he'd hoped.

"Uh… yeah," he said awkwardly, scratching his head. "They were getting rid of them at the animal shelter, so I thought I'd take one off their hands."

"Barton, why the hell would you do that!" Natasha exclaimed. "I cannot take care of an _animal._ I don't think my apartment even _allows_ pets!"

Clint froze. He hadn't thought of that.

"I can't, I'm not taking it," Natasha stated, crossing her arms. "Take it back to the animal shelter."

Clint avoided her gaze. "I… can't. They won't take her back." He hesitated. "Do you want to see her…?"

 _"No!"_ Natasha snapped. "Get rid of it. Dump it in the woods or something."

Clint gaped at her. "I can't—"

"Well figure something out!" Natasha snarled. She rubbed at her forehead. "I cannot _believe_ you would just up and buy an animal for me – why would you do that, huh?"

Clint lowered his head, kicking at the ground. "I just… thought you'd like it," he mumbled.

"You thought I'd like it?" Natasha glowered at him. "Barton—" She started towards him. "I cannot keep an animal in my house. Okay? I'm never at home, and even if I was, I don't know how to take care of them."  
Clint tentatively raised his head. "Well it's pretty easy to learn—"

"Shut up!" Natasha said sharply.

There was a long silence.

A scratching sound issued from the box, followed by a series of tiny squeaks.

Natasha didn't break eye contact with Clint.

She sighed heavily. "Barton, did you get me a cat?"

Clint nodded and dropped his head again.

Natasha was quiet for a long time. She sighed and half-turned away, her eyes flickering around the empty parking lot. Clint watched her quietly. A breeze found its way through the cutout windows and ruffled her hair.

Natasha turned back to him, and her eyes met his. "Can I see it," she said quietly.

Clint ducked his head to hide his pleased smile. He knelt down and opened the box.

He reached in and pulled out the little black kitten he had got at the animal shelter. It was small enough to fit in his hand, and it blinked sleepily at Natasha as he held it up.

Natasha's lips parted, and her arms uncrossed as she took a step closer.

"It's tiny."

"She's three weeks old," Clint said, stroking the kitten's head. "They were just dropped off earlier this week."

Natasha bit her lip and glanced up at him. "What's her name," she asked stiffly.

"You get to choose," Clint said. He held the kitten out. "Wanna hold her?"  
Natasha nodded and hesitantly reached for the creature.

She held the kitten against her chest and gently scratched its chin. The kitten's eyes closed in contentment, and she started purring.

"Aww," Natasha said softly, and she tucked the kitten under her chin.

By this time, Clint was grinning widely, because wow, this was adorable. Then he cleared his throat.

"Uh, by the way," he began. Natasha looked at him. "I may have lied about the animal shelter. I can take her back if you want me to."

Natasha's eyelids lowered, and she shook her head. "No… I'll keep her."

Clint raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "But you're never at home."

"I know," she murmured.

"And your apartment probably doesn't allow pets."

"I know."

"And you don't know how to take care of cats."

She looked up at him; smirked a little. "It's pretty easy to learn."

Clint chuckled.

"And you can teach me how, right?" she added hopefully.

"Of _course!"_ Clint said eagerly. "I'll show you everything! But first… don't you think you should name her?"

Natasha looked down at the kitten. "She already has a name," she said quietly. "Strela."

Clint frowned. "Strela? What kind of name is that?"

"Russian," she said without looking at him.

Clint smiled. "Strela it is."

(It wasn't until later that he found out that _strela_ was Russian for _arrow.)_

* * *

 **Shoutout to the new followers on this story! Helloooo! Welcome to the train wreck! :D**

 **sasslikespock - Omg thank you so much! I'm glad this story has your mark of approval and it means a lot that you took the time to review. :)**

 **Mockingjay500 and Princess2016 - OH TYSM. xD I'm soo relieved you people liked the nickname - I was afraid it would be too dorky. x)**

 **All of you people are so nice can i just like hug you pls**


	17. Step 16

**Gooood morning to you all!**

 **To silent song of shadows - omg you are so right. Come on, Barton, think outside the box xD**

 **To the Guest reviewer on the last chapter - Wow thank you so much!,!,! That is really really encouraging, wow... thank you!,!**

 **To Mockingjay500 - Yay thank you so much! I should call you firefly haha x)**

 **And now... the story.**

* * *

As it turned out, owning pets in Natasha's apartment was frowned upon. Clint found out the same thing about his apartment, so the two of them reached an agreement: They would take turns keeping Strela at their houses; that way, when questioned, they could both say they didn't own the kitten, they were just 'watching it for a friend.'

"Sneaky. Diabolical" was Natasha's comment when Clint suggested the plan. Then they'd both laughed, because keeping a kitten in a pet-free environment was certainly not the most illegal thing either of them had done.

Natasha had taken the kitten home that night, and told Clint he could have his turn in three days.

When Clint woke up the next morning, he ate a quick breakfast, then checked the List:

16.) If they take your hand, squeeze it or run your thumb over their knuckles.

Clint snorted. _If_ they take your hand? What kind of a step was this – he couldn't even do it unless Natasha, for some reason, took his hand. He hesitated, wondering if he should skip it. After all, he had thought to skip any steps that relied on other people (although at the time, he'd meant people besides Natasha).

Then he decided to at least give it a chance. Maybe he would look for an opportunity to take _her_ hand.

(The main reason why he decided not to skip it was because he hadn't touched her since their 'tickle fight'.)

Before he left for HQ, however, Clint pulled up the Google searchbar. That sequence from Natasha's mysterious file, 'oyee frater', was floating around in his head, and he wanted to see if he could find anything on it. He started typing it in.

 _Okay, so first of all, no, I'm not looking for oysters._

After a failed web search that turned up some questionable results (including the social media profiles of Indian guys and a rude Urban Dictionary meaning), Clint gave up on the 'oyee' part. He started typing in 'frater'.

 _No, I do not mean 'the dining room or refectory of a monastery'. And no, I'm not talking about Olympic athletes from the early 2000's._

Clint backspaced the word and started typing it in slowly, letter by letter.

Suggestions popped up as he struck each letter: Fratello's. Fraternity. Fraternal. Fraternize—

Wait.

 _Fraternize._

 _Oyee fraternize._

As in, _employee fraternization._

Was Natasha reading the Employee Fraternization file?

That was weird. SHIELD's Employee Fraternization file was basically just a rubric that prescribed guidelines to employees who were getting involved with other SHIELD employees. Clint had had to read it himself, years ago, when he'd started dating Bobbi Morse. Why would Natasha be reading it? Did Hill want her to, like, make changes to it or something? That would be weird, Natasha shouldn't even be reading the file unless—

Clint's stomach dropped. He sat up so fast that he almost fell off the bed.

Unless she was dating someone from SHIELD.

Clint sat there in shock for a minute. Then he jumped off his bed and ran to the door, yanking his shoes on as fast as he could. He needed to get to HQ.

…

When he entered the base, he stormed straight into the cafeteria. A group of field agents were loitering around the coffee machine, chatting it up.

Clint stopped in front of them, and for once, he didn't bother getting any coffee.

"Hey. You guys. Hey." Clint cut into their noisy chatter.

They all looked at him, and started grinning.

"Hey, Barton!" "Heyy, man, how's it going?" "Great to see you Barton!" One of the guys clapped him on the shoulder.

Clint forced a smile. "Hey. Thanks. Why does everyone keep—Anyways, have any of you guys seen—"

"Natasha?" one of them finished for him.

Clint blinked in surprise. "Yeah. How'd you—"

"She's in Office 14," another guy said.

Clint turned back towards the hallway. "Okay… thanks, you guys…" He started out the door.

"Have fun!" one of the guys called after him.

"Uh, okay…" _Have fun? What is that supposed to mean?_ Clint's irritation grew with his confusion – he hated being in the dark (which, to be fair, was where he was most of the time).

He reached Office 14 within thirty seconds. He strode in, to find Natasha sitting at a table, surrounded by several notebooks and pens.

She looked up and smiled when he approached her. "Hey, Barton."

"Hey. Hi. Hello. Yeah, what the hell is going on?" Clint demanded, leaning across the table on his palms.

Natasha frowned. "What?"—

"Going on. What the hell is," Clint repeated, gesturing toward the café.

She shook her head. "I don't—"

"Were you reading the Employee Fraternization file yesterday?" Clint challenged, looking her dead in the eye.

Natasha went quiet. She looked thoughtfully at him for a minute, then set down the pen she was holding and set her elbows on the table, folding her hands under her chin.

"Found out about that, did you?"

So it was true. In shock, Clint lowered himself into the seat across from her. Natasha watched him without speaking.

"So wait—why—wh—" Clint broke off and took a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. _Be cool about this, she can date whoever the hell she wants to._ He met her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me yesterday?"

Natasha shrugged and dropped her eyes. "I don't know. I guess I thought it would be… awkward."

Clint scowled. "Oh, okay, so it would have been _less_ awkward for me to find out from, say, the guys at the coffee machine."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sorry. Would you have preferred to hear it from _me_?"

"I would have preferred that, yes!" Clint said sharply.

Natasha's brows scrunched in puzzlement. "Okay… why…?"

 _Because I'm in love with you…_

 _Nope, not going to say that._

"Because you're my best friend, Nat," he said instead. "I _want_ to hear about this kind of stuff from you. You can tell me anything."

A comic blend of confusion and mirth crossed Natasha's face. "Okay, wow, what the heck," she commented. "It's just a stupid rumor."

Clint froze. "What?"

"What?" she repeated.

Clint sat back in his chair, relief washing through him. "I… didn't know it was just a rumor," he said slowly.

Natasha's brows creased in bewilderment, and she let out a short bark of laughter. "Oh my god, Barton. You of all people should know that it's just a rumor."

Clint frowned. "What do you mean, me of all people?"

Natasha stared at him for a minute, eyebrows high. "You really _don't_ know about this, do you?"

"Know about what?" Clint demanded, growing irritated again.

Natasha sighed and folded her arms on the tabletop.

"Yes, Barton, there is a rumor," she said. "A rumor about me and another SHIELD employee. I told Hill it wasn't true, but apparently the procedure is that whenever the heads of SHIELD receive even a _report_ about employee fraternization, they are required to give the employees in question the file to read." She lowered her head. "In this case, the other employee involved had already read the file, so he wasn't notified."

Clint nodded reflectively. "So," he said slowly. "Who was the other employee."

Natasha chuckled wryly and lifted her head again. "Who do you think?"

"Mayer," Clint said instantly. Maybe he was just too suspicious, but he'd always kind of thought that Mayer was interested in Natasha.

The assassin shook her head. "No, not Mayer," she replied. "A guy who I hang out with a lot, who I'm really close with, and people have started speculating about us."

Clint thought for a minute. He couldn't think of anyone at SHIELD who Natasha was especially close with – maybe he wasn't paying as much attention as he'd thought to who she spent her time with.

"Who?" he asked finally.

Natasha raised her eyebrows.

"Fury?" Clint suggested.

Natasha let out an uncomfortable laugh and shook her head. "Oh my god. You're really gonna make me say it, aren't you?"

Clint tilted his head at her, trying to figure out who she could mean.

Natasha laughed awkwardly again dropped her head, studying her fingernails.

"People think you and I are sleeping together."

Clint froze.

Oh.

 _Ohhh._

So that was why everyone was acting weird around him. That was why people kept clapping him on the shoulder, beaming at him, and telling him where Natasha was. That was why Hill had grinned at Natasha when he'd walked into the break room yesterday – they'd probably been talking about him right before he came in.

What _had_ Hill been saying when he walked in? Oh, right: _"Whether or not it's legitimate—"_ ('it' being the rumor, apparently), _"—we're all really happy about it. Even Fury, although he won't admit it. Guy just said "Give her the file", like he doesn't owe me eighty bucks."_

Wait, so, his bosses were really happy about the rumors about him and Natasha? They had been making bets about how long it would take for these rumors to start circulating?

 _Criminy._

Clint felt warmth rising to his face. Seeing his blush, Natasha said, "You see why I thought it would be awkward coming from me."

Clint nodded.

Then he started to laugh.

It wasn't that there was anything particularly funny about the situation. It made sense, in fact – he and Natasha _did_ spend a lot of time together, so he could see where people might think something was going on between them. And, even if the rumor _had_ been completely ludicrous, rumors were no laughing matter – gossip could be harmful.

But he _had_ to laugh. It was the only way to make it seem like he thought the rumors were completely absurd, that he didn't care, and that he absolutely didn't feel anything for Natasha beyond friendship.

For a second, Natasha just looked at him. Then she started laughing too.

"That," Clint breathed, "is hilarious."

"I know, isn't it?" Natasha agreed. "It's utterly ridiculous. Obviously there's nothing between us. Even just the idea is preposterous."

Clint nodded violently, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

There was an awkward silence.

"So," Clint said hurriedly.

Natasha looked at him, and he swallowed, trying to think of something to say.

"What're you doing?" he asked finally. _Nice save._

Natasha relaxed a little. "I'm prepping for my session tomorrow."

Clint nodded, starting to smile. "Oh, right… your math class."

Natasha rolled her eyes, a smirk twitching the corner of her mouth. "Barton. Read, my, lips. _Currency. Conversion."_

With difficulty, Clint dragged his gaze away from her lips. "Math," he repeated stubbornly.

Natasha scoffed and went back to writing.

Slowly, Clint stood up. "Well… I guess I should go."

Natasha looked up. "Will you be at my currency conversion session tomorrow?"

"Sure, I'll come to your math class tomorrow," Clint replied cheekily. "How, when, and where?"

As Natasha gave him the specifics, it occurred to him that he hadn't taken the sixteenth Step yet.

 _There's no way she's going to just take my hand. I should just get it over with._

"Okay, got it," he said when Natasha had finished. "Catch you later, Nat." He extended his hand towards her across the table.

Natasha looked at it in confusion. Uncertainly, she handed him her pen.

Clint laughed awkwardly. "No, not that," he said, setting it on the table. "Handshake. See?"

Natasha listed her head, frowning attractively.

Clint's mind raced. "Uh, the rumor mill. Has been working hard lately. If we don't give them any material, then the rumors will die out. We're just friends. See? Handshake. Between friends." He spread his fingers.

Natasha's frown disappeared, replaced by a lopsided smile. Slowly, she got to her feet. "Okay," she said quietly. "Handshake it is, Barton."

His heartrate started to pick up when she placed her cool hand in his, and his larger one covered it. She locked eyes with him, and gave his hand a firm shake. "Agent Barton."

"Agent Romanoff," he replied seriously.

Natasha stopped shaking his hand, and gazed piercingly at him for a moment. Clint swallowed, unnerved by her scrutiny.

 _Alright. Get this over with._

He brushed his thumb across her knuckles. In the same moment, she tugged her hand out of his and quickly dropped into her seat again, scooping up her pen. She ducked her head and started hurriedly scribbling on the page before her.

"Lots to do, Barton," she said, sounding distracted. "Gotta keep that rumor mill at bay."

Clint cleared his throat, still feeling the ghost of her hand in his.

"Definitely," he agreed. "I'll see you 'round, Romanoff."

He hurried out the door.

* * *

 **PSA: I will not be able to post for the next couple days. :( I am attending an all-day writing seminar in Indy, so I won't have time to work on this.**

 **My hope is that I'll pick up some good writing tips, so I can come back with an extra-good chapter on Friday! We'll see...**

 **Also just throwing this out here: I am SO freaking psyched about Step 17... I've been looking forward to it since like Step 1 tbh. It's going to be grotesquely awkward :D**

 **Talia out!**


	18. Step 17

**Back with Step 17! :)**

 **Ravenpuff Nerd - TYSM!,! I'm so glad you like the story, and I'm so flattered by your comment! :D And ikr like what even is a boyfriend and can i have one**

 **SilentlyGrateful - Wow. That is really moving. I actually got teary reading your review, and that's saying something cause I'm a coldhearted sucker and I haven't cried in like 2 years. I'm so glad my story makes you smile, and I'll try to keep posting as often as I can. Thank you, and I hope you feel better! :)**

 **Okay folks, prepare to die of secondhand embarrassment...**

* * *

Natasha's math class was set for 9:30 pm the next day – a pretty dumb time for a math class, but apparently the recruits were too busy with physical classes to do it during the morning. Theoretically, Clint _should_ have spent the day brushing up on his math skills (he had dropped out of high school his junior year, so he had never completed Algebra 2. And he was pretty sure most of the concepts Natasha was teaching were Algebra 2 concepts). But instead of doing math… he didn't do math. There wasn't an excuse really. He just didn't do it. (Come on, don't tell me you've never done that before.)

It didn't matter though. He was sure he'd be able to bumble along just fine.

'Currency Conversion' was a good skill to have, especially in their line of work. When an op sent them overseas, they would use the SHIELD budget to sustain themselves; they used it on things like food, weapons, hotel rooms, and Gottschall pogo sticks ("Come on, Nat! It's an authentic German make!") Once they got back to SHIELD, it was their responsibility to determine how much money they had spent in pounds, euros, francs, yen… whatever. Then they had to convert this amount to English dollars so that SHIELD could keep their checkbook balanced.

Sometimes, if an op took them to several different locations, they had their work cut out for them – they had to figure out how much they had spent, add the amounts together, then convert each individual currency into dollars.

Clint had never done that though – he was lousy at math.

When he had an arrow nocked to his bow, he could mentally calculate distance, elevation, wind current, arrow length and density, and bowstring tension, and take into account the curvature of the earth, and all in less than a second, in order to make sure the arrow found its target.

But that was all ideas in his head, not numbers, and he did it automatically. If you sat him down with a pencil and sheet of paper, addition puzzled him, subtraction perplexed him, multiplication baffled him, and division straight-out bamboozled him. Then it was all, "Nat, can you convert my money amount to dollars? Pleeeease?"

Luckily, Natasha was brilliant with numbers. It didn't surprise Clint in the least that she had been picked to teach the class. And he thought it was an excellent idea for the younger recruits to learn these types of skills early on – they would need them later, when they started taking field missions.

But he didn't particularly want to learn himself. Currency conversion looked so dull.

Still, Natasha wanted him to be there – probably partly because she was sick of converting his numbers for him. But if she wanted him there for any reason, he would go. It would be good for him to learn, he told himself.

Before he left his house, he checked the List for Step 17:

17.) Tell them, as off-handedly as you can, that they smell good today.

 _Wait what?_

 _What the_ heck!?

 _No, no, no, I am_ not _doing that! First of all, that's creepy. Secondly, that's just weird. And thirdly, that is so awkward, nonono, no WAY am I doing that!_

It wouldn't be a lie, of course. Natasha _did_ smell amazing roughly 100% of the time; it could be downright distracting when he got close to her. It wasn't a scent he could really define; all he knew was that it only added to his desire to just pin her down and kiss her senseless.

But _thinking_ something about her and actually _telling_ her were two very different things. And that just wasn't the sort of thing that people said to people they were interested in (was it?) Besides, Clint wasn't good at 'offhanded'. In fact, he was _terrible_ at 'offhanded'. Telling Clint to act 'offhanded' or 'casual' was like telling a worm to tap-dance.

 _Nope, no way, not doing it._

 _You've never skipped a Step before,_ his subconscious accused him. _You said you were NEVER going to skip a Step._

Clint told his subconscious to shut up and ran out the door.

…

The math class was on the fourth floor, in Conference Room 4b. Clint had come prepared with a pen and notebook, and he strode down the hallway, eager to see how the Black Widow would go about teaching a math class.

He opened the door.

Instantly, a sea of heads turned towards him, and he froze.

The class had already started.

About a dozen tables had been set up around the room, and there were roughly a hundred teenagers in the room, seven or eight people to a table. All of them had a pen or pencil and a notebook in front of them, and all of them were looking at him.

Natasha was standing at the front of the room before a large chalkboard, hair tied back, arms crossed. Clint made eye contact with her, and gave her a 'please help me' look.

He expected her to be annoyed with him for interrupting her class, but instead, he caught a twinkle of amusement in her eye that anyone else might have missed.

"Agent Barton," she said evenly.

"Uh… hi," Clint said awkwardly. He glanced back down the hall. "Um… I was told there was gonna be a math class here?" he said, widening his eyes innocently at her.

Natasha gave him an 'I'm-going-to-kill-you-later' smile, and Clint had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

"Yes, there is a _currency conversion_ class here," she said pointedly. "The class is already in session."

Clint glanced around the room, as if seeing the dutiful students for the first time.

"Oh!" he said in feigned surprise. "Someone told me the class started at nine-thirty."

"I think you misheard Someone," Natasha said dryly. "Someone said _nine."_

"Maybe Someone told me wrong," Clint suggested archly.

He could tell by her expression that he was exasperating her, and a mischievous smile stretched across his lips.

"Someone told you exactly right," Natasha said with forced courtesy. "You just heard Someone wrong."

Clint faked a deferential gesture. "Well, whichever one," he said mildly. "Can I stick around anyway?"

"Certainly."

Clint nodded and headed for an empty seat.

While he and Natasha had been talking, all the students' heads had been snapping back and forth between them like it was a tennis match. But not Natasha cleared her throat, and their attention immediately returned to her.

"Alright, class," she said, as Clint slid into his seat. "Where were we? Oh, right – formulas." She continued talking, and Clint tapped the shoulder of the kid sitting next to him.

"Hey… what did I miss?"

The kid just turned to him with wide, dazed eyes.

"So much, bro," he whispered. "So much."

Clint blinked. "Huh?"

"… Hey, whoever's whispering," Natasha called out, her eyes scanning the classroom. "Please shut up. You're more than welcome to chat with your friends later, if you even have any friends."

Clint winced. _Ouch._

No one spoke again. Natasha really knew how to keep a class quiet, he thought with admiration.

"Thank you," Natasha said. "So, to sum up what we've talked about so far: In order to calculate the percentage discrepancy between two currencies, you're going to have to subtract the lower exchange rate from the higher one. Take the difference, and divide it by the market exchange rate. Then, to get the percentage markup, multiply the quotient by 100. Everyone got it?"

All the heads bobbed obediently. Clint frowned.

 _Wait, what the heck?_

"Good," Natasha said. "As you can see, I've already done an example problem on the board. Now you're going to do the same thing."

 _Oh, goody._

"We're going to start with simple numbers," Natasha went on. "Use the model on the board to convert 12 pounds to dollars. If you need help with the problem, raise your hand and I'll come help you. Any questions before we start?"

 _Yes, what the hell are we doing?_

"Okay!" Natasha said. "Get figuring."

Every head quickly bent towards its page, and the sound of pens and pencils scratching paper filled the room.

Clint stared at the example on the board for a minute, as Natasha began walking around the room, glancing at the students' work and correcting it if needed. Clint opened his notebook determinedly – he had to get started.

He decided to at least write '12 pounds—dollars' at the top of his page. But when he touched his pen down, he discovered that it was out of ink.

 _(Dammit.)_

Fortunately, there was a box filled with craft supplies in the center of the table. Clint dug around in it, got a strip of tape stuck to his finger, pricked his knuckle on a thumbtack, and finally managed to find a pen.

 _Yeah, this is going great so far._

Clint stared at the chalkboard for a minute, but he couldn't make sense of what was there.

 _Oh, well – I'll just copy it exactly, but with the number twelve instead of fifty._

He shrugged and dove right in.

Five minutes later, he was positive he'd done something wrong.

 _Twelve pounds is one thousand, six hundred, twenty-seven dollars and eighteen cents? That doesn't sound right._

A student near the back of the room had raised his hand and Natasha was busy helping him. Clint managed to catch her eye, and he meekly raised a finger. She nodded and turned back to finish helping the other student.

Shortly afterward, she appeared on his left, leaning one elbow onto the table and smirking at him.

"Something I can help you with?"

Clint grinned back at her, several saucy comebacks floating through his mind.

 _Focus, Barton._

"Uh, yeah," he said, turning back to his page. "I did something wrong here and I can't figure out what it is."

"Let me see." Natasha bent over his page, and her free hand found the back of his chair. She chuckled low in her throat when she saw his answer, a sound that made his stomach twist pleasantly. "My god, Barton. What did you do?" She turned to look at him, amusement flickering in her emerald eyes, which were suddenly so close to his.

"I don't know," Clint said vaguely.

"Hang on, let me look at this." Her posture shifted as she leaned over his paper again, and he caught a hint of it – that intoxicating scent that he associated with her. Shampoo, lotion, perfume… he wasn't sure. But it was floral with a rough sort of edge to it, and, as usual, he was quickly overrun with fantasies of grabbing her and kissing the hell out of her.

 _Take Step 17._

 _Wait, what? No!_ he argued back at himself.

 _It's the perfect time. Everyone else is busy, no one's listening, and she's already close to you right now so it could come off as spur-of-the-moment. Casual. Offhanded._

Clint looked at Natasha. She _was_ really close to him – maybe too close than what was good for him. His eyes tracked how her brow wrinkled with concentration, how her delicate fingers were tapping the tabletop, how a few strands of hair had come loose and trailed down her smooth neck, how her lips moved as she muttered to herself…

Clint blinked. _Wait – why am I even considering this? I thought I decided Step 17 was creepy!_

 _Yeah,_ he argued back at himself, _but all these Steps are ways to hint that you like someone, right? They're going to help me. They're going to make her realize how I feel about her without me having to say so._

 _But it's creepy!_

 _But I've never skipped a Step before…_

And now Natasha was moving, and he was going to have to come to a decision before she left his table.

"Okay," she said slowly. "Okay. I think I figured out what you did." She pointed at his page. "The formula—"

"You smell good," Clint blurted out.

He had said it quietly, but he was already cringing at how awkward it sounded aloud. Natasha stopped talking, her bright eyes fastening on him.

"Hm?"

Clint squirmed uncomfortably, dropping his gaze to the table. Had she really not heard him?

"Did you say something?"

Okay, so she really _hadn't_ heard him. Clint gritted his teeth, glaring accusingly at his notebook. Was she really going to make him say it again?

Natasha tilted her head, trying to see his face. "Barton? Is—"

"I said, you smell good."

Natasha froze.

So that time, she'd heard him.

Terrific.

And apparently, she hadn't been the only one either. In his desperation to make sure that he wouldn't have to repeat himself a third time, Clint had spoken a little louder than was strictly necessary. A few snickers erupted from those around his table, and he could hear his comment being whispered into the ears of other recruits. His face was burning hot, and he stared fixedly at the tabletop. He didn't dare look at Natasha's face.

Now the story was being passed to those at other tables as well. Clint felt a powerful urge to slide down under the table as he heard a few giggles break out around the room, as well as whispers of "What? What did he say?" and "Wait, _what's_ going on?"

Finally, Natasha stirred.

She cleared her throat. "The formula," she continued valiantly. "It, uh, it says, it wants you to, um, to multiply the quotient by 100…"

She tried to keep talking, but it was clear that she'd lost her focus, and she was stumbling over her words a little.

The girl sitting across from Clint tittered, and leaned over to the recruit next to her. "Look, she's blushing," she stage-whispered, and more snickering arose from the table.

Natasha stopped talking.

 _Oh, Christ._

"Okay, you know what?" Natasha said sharply. She straightened and fished around in the craft box for a moment, then drew her fist out.

Had Clint seen what she was holding, he would have moved his hand from where it was resting on the table. And he would have done more than just watch when her hand moved to hover above his.

Fierce pain pricked his hand, and he yelped as Natasha drove a thumbtack the triangle of skin between his thumb and forefinger, pinning his hand to the table. Blood began seeping out of the wound at a rapid rate, and he looked wild-eyed at Natasha.

Her face was calm, cool; and she stared back at him without a hint of emotion in her face.

"Go to medical," she said quietly.

The room had gone dead silent.

Natasha swiveled and stalked back to the chalkboard, then turned to face the class.

 _"Get back to work,"_ she said severely.

Immediately, every head bent over its notebook again, and hurried scribbling could be heard throughout the room.

Natasha didn't look at Clint as he yanked the yellow thumbtack out of his hand. More blood began dribbling out of the puncture wound, and he cupped his right hand under his left to catch the blood. He shot her a glance, but she still wasn't looking at him, so he gave up and stumbled out of the room.

* * *

 **So idk about you, but this chapter literally hurts my eyes to read like it's so awkward**

 **Incidentally, I'm getting really attached to this story, and you people. I only have 4 steps left, but I'm going to draw this story out as much as possible:**

 **The last step will probably be a 2-parter, maybe even a 3-parter, and I'm considering writing like a bonus/epilogue type scene once the steps are done, if you people are interested.**

 **Anyways, I have to go face real life now - hopefully I'll be back tomorrow! :)**


	19. Step 18

**laylik . caketin - Aww thank you so much!,! That is honestly so sweet just consider yourself cyberhugged. ^-^**

 **Jbug Guest - Oooh I like that idea! Maybe when I post the last chapter I'll ask if people want that (though I'll probably end up doing it whether they like it or not). x)**

 **Ok so I feel like this chapter may be kind of slow, but we'll see. Got to start wrapping things up for the Big Conclusion. xD**

* * *

The medic who examined Clint's hand assured him that as long as he kept the puncture wound clean until it scabbed over, there shouldn't be any lasting effects from having his hand pinned to the table. The medic cleaned the perforation with an antiseptic that stung worse than the thumbtack, and wrapped it in gauze, then sent Clint home with orders to change the gauze after a few hours.

Clint went home furious with himself. He couldn't believe what a spectacle he'd made of himself and Natasha, and what a disruption he had caused in Natasha's first and last SHIELD class. Natasha must be livid, and with good reason – what an _idiot._

He thought to find her and apologize, but he was afraid if he approached her she would target his _eye_ with a thumbtack (or worse), so he decided to keep his distance until she cooled down.

So on Tuesday, he piddled around, doing nothing in particular, but everything in general, and anything that would give him an excuse to not go to SHIELD while Natasha was on the warpath.

He did look at the List though, even though he didn't plan to see Natasha that day, and, by extension, didn't intend to take any Steps that day. He just wanted to make sure that the next Step was less stupid as the last one had been. It was:

18.) Don't leave without saying goodbye.

Good. It was easy, doable, and not stupid. He would do it tomorrow, which was his day to take Strela. Hopefully by then, Natasha wouldn't be mad at him anymore.

It was around eleven-thirty when he finally went to bed. He was congratulating himself on having successfully avoided having his eye stabbed out all day, and burrowing under the covers, ready for his favorite time of day.

His phone rang.

Clint extracted his head from the covers to glare at his phone as it continued to ring mockingly at him. At last he sighed and snagged the device off his nightstand. It was Hill.

Clint lifted the phone to his ear. "What's up?"

"We need you down at HQ," Hill said briskly.

Clint frowned. "What? Why?"

"We have a situation," Hill replied. "Fury's calling a meeting, Level 7 and higher."

"Does Fury know what time it is?" Clint demanded.

"Barton, just get down here," the commander ordered. She hung up.

"Wait, what's the situation?" Clint asked the dialtone.

The dialtone didn't answer.

Clint huffed in frustration and tossed his phone back onto the nightstand. Then, he dragged himself out of his cozy bed and started yanking his clothes on.

…

It was raining out. There was no lightning, but now and then the low rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance.

Clint parked out front, and ran through the downpour with the hood of his sweatshirt up.

Inside, it was slightly warmer and significantly drier. Upper-level agents strode quickly down the hallways, speaking in hushed, hurried tones.

 _What is going on?_

Clint made a beeline for the café. A small cluster of agents was huddled around the coffee machine, and he managed to worm through them to pour himself a cup. _(Thank God for the SHIELD cafeteria people – bringing us the Water of Life at all hours.)_

Clint noticed, to his relief, that he didn't get any strange glances or suggestive comments. Apparently the rumor mill was already starting to slow.

Clint didn't like the apprehensive atmosphere in the café, so he got his coffee and headed for the break room.

That was a mistake.

When he stepped into the room, the first person he laid eyes on was a certain toxic redhead, sipping coffee at the table with Hill, and somehow managing to look stellar even at twelve midnight.

Clint froze in the doorway. _So should I like leave, or…_

"Barton. There you are." Hill stood up and started towards him. Natasha tossed him a quick glance before focusing her gaze on her coffee cup.

"What's going on?" Clint asked, carefully keeping his eyes on Hill.

Hill crossed her arms. "It's complicated. Fury will explain it in the meeting. For now, I need your help with something."

"Okay."

"I need to go talk to Fury. Would you keep Natasha company for a couple minutes?" Hill asked seriously.

Clint stared at her. _You have got to be joking._

"Uh, sure."

"Thank you," Hill said. "It'll just be until the meeting starts." She left the room.

Clint looked at Natasha. She was studying her coffee like she had a 1000 word essay on the origins of coffee beans due in half an hour. Slowly, Clint shuffled over to the table and sat down across from her.

The clock on the wall counted several minutes in silent, measured seconds.

 _So should I like… say something?_

"How's your hand," Natasha muttered.

Clint blinked and looked up. She was still staring at her cup like she expected the coffee to run away when she wasn't looking.

"Chill," Clint answered.

 _'Chill'? My hand is 'chill'? Out of all the adjectives I could have chosen?_

The clock recorded several more seconds of dead silence.

Finally Clint exhaled. "About yesterday—"

"I wasn't mad," Natasha interrupted.

Clint halted, looking quizzically at her. She hadn't been mad at him yesterday? Then why would she tack his hand to a table?

"Then why…?" He indicated his swaddled hand.

"To get the class under control." She finally glanced up at him. "Remove the distraction."

 _Ohhh._ Suddenly it all made sense. Tacking his hand to the table would not only remind the class who was in charge, but ensure that he had to go to medical, so they wouldn't be distracted by him anymore. Although it hurt, he had to admit it was smart thinking on her part.

So, wait – she hadn't been mad about his… comment?

"But…" Clint shifted in his seat. "That thing I said—"

"—was stupid," she finished for him. "But I wasn't mad."

Clint looked at her for a minute, as she skimmed her fingertips along the rim of her cup.

"Surprising" was his remark.

Natasha stood up and left the room.

Clint flopped back into his seat. _Wow, that was, like, painfully awkward._

He sat there for a few minutes longer, sipping his coffee and brooding, before Bobbi Morse stuck her head in and told him the meeting was starting.

Clint was one of the last few agents to filter into the large conference room. He managed to find a seat that was far away from Natasha, and sat back, waiting for Fury to start.

"I'm gonna start by making sure everyone here is familiar with the HYDRA attacks that went down a couple weeks ago," Fury began. "There were several unwarranted attacks on SHIELD agents that died out after a week or so. Several bases were targeted, and we didn't know why. Well, we just found out why.

Fury crossed his arms, glaring around the crowded table with his good eye. "Every time there was an attack, there was a little theft: a necklace. A watch. Some random piece of equipment. It didn't make sense at the time, but now it does.

"Three days ago, there was a raid at the Providence base, one of the smallest SHIELD bases. Some of our SHIELD-issued vehicles and weapons were stolen by HYDRA. And earlier this evening, HYDRA used these resources to launch a major attack on CIA. Evidently, they were using the DNA found on the objects they had stolen during their attacks to impersonate SHIELD agents with nanotechnology. The vehicles and weapons made it all the more believable."

 _Oh, crap. I see where this is going._

Fury leaned his palms onto the table. "CIA believes it was attacked by SHIELD," he announced. "Now the World Security Council and United Nations are getting involved, and it's getting ugly." He took a deep breath. "They're talking about shutting down SHIELD."

Instantly, the room was in an uproar.

Exclamations of "What!" and "Can they even do that, director?" and "That's not fair!" and "I just wanna go back to bed!" could be heard all around the table.

Fury raised his hands for silence. "One at a time, please," he ordered. "Mayer."

"Couldn't we just explain what happened?" Mayer said practically. "I'm sure the theft of the objects could be proven."

"Yes," Fury replied. "But the issue now is not so much this specific occurrence. This situation has brought to light several other instances in which SHIELD _did_ attack other intelligence agencies. The problem now is that UN believes that SHIELD has too much power left unchecked, and people are getting afraid. Hunter."

As Agent Hunter spoke, Clint lowered his forehead down onto the table. He stayed in this position while several other agents voiced their opinions, some of them growing heated and starting to talk over each other again.

Clint couldn't help thinking about all the Level 1-6's who hadn't been called to the meeting and were at home, sleeping in their comfy beds. _Lucky bastards._

Roughly a dozen pissed-off agents had hollered at Fury before Clint had had enough.

He lifted his head and looked straight at Fury. "Just hold a conference!" he hollered above the rising commotion.

The room went quiet, and suddenly, everyone was looking at him.

Ordinarily, Clint would have been embarrassed, but at the moment, he was too tired and pissed to care.

"Agent Barton?" Fury prompted.

Clint sighed and crossed his arms. "Some smug self-righteous SOB's think SHIELD should be nixed. We don't think SHIELD should be nixed. Hold a conference. Hash it out."

"You mean like a debate?" Hill spoke up.

Clint shrugged. "Sure. A debate."

"I'm not convinced that's the wisest course of action," Fury said dubiously. "That would be backing ourselves into a corner. If we lose, SHIELD will be shut down. At least right now, we have an option."

"Yeah, we do. So we should take the straightforward option," Clint replied. "The way I see it, if SHIELD goes into hiding, it's just a matter of time before UN sniffs us out and drags us into court. If we go to court now, we'll be more prepared, and it'll look better. All cards on the table."

Fury and Hill exchanged glances.

Then Fury looked around the table. "Does anyone have a problem with this idea?"

No one spoke.

Fury rubbed at his chin for a minute, thinking.

At last, he said, "Well, it's not a _terrible_ thought."

 _High praise coming from Fury._

"It does require further thought, though. We'll have to talk to the other Level 10s before we come to a decision," Fury said. "For now, though, I think that's our best option."

 _Tremendous praise coming from Fury._

"Well, unless anyone else has an idea," Fury continued, "I think we'll conclude now. We'll give Agent Barton's scheme some thought, and get back with you all as quickly as we can. Thank you."

Chairs began scraping the floor as SHIELD agents started slowly leaving the room. Clint was about to leave, but then he remembered Step 18.

 _Well, this is as good a time as any._

A dozen or so SHIELD agents remained at the table, deep in conversation, and Natasha was among them. She was talking heatedly to Agent Triplett, and it didn't look like a good time to interrupt. Clint decided to linger until she was finished. He sat back in his chair and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The room began gradually emptying out. Even Fury and Hill left. Clint's eyelids started to droop several times, and he had to force himself to stay awake. Exhaustion was gradually settling over him, weighing on his head and eyes.

Clint caught himself about to drift off and gave himself a little shake. _Just a couple more minutes._ He checked his watch. Twenty minutes had passed since the meeting had ended, and Natasha was still at the other end of the table, conversing with Triplett, showing no signs of stopping. Clint thought again about the warm nest of blankets that was awaiting him at home. Maybe he should just interrupt them.

 _Well, I'm sure they're almost done._

Ten minutes later, they weren't.

Clint caught himself about to fall to sleep again. The bright lights in the conference room stabbed his pupils, and he rubbed his eyes tiredly and glanced at Natasha. He couldn't hear what Triplett was saying to her, but it must have been riveting.

It occurred to him that he had left his coffee in the break room. If he could drink some of it, he thought, that would be sufficient to keep him from visiting dreamland until Natasha was done with her intense conversation.

It took a few minutes to muster up enough willpower to drag himself to his feet and shuffle into the break room. He found that his coffee was cold, so he made his way down the quiet, empty hallways to refill the cup with hot coffee.

All this took under two minutes.

When he returned to the conference room, Triplett was just standing up, and Natasha was nowhere in sight.

 _You have to be kidding me._

"Where's Natasha?" he demanded of the field agent.

Triplett looked surprised. "Romanoff? You just missed her. She went home."

"When did she leave?" Clint asked hurriedly.

"Like, I don't know… sixty seconds ago?"

Clint slammed his cup onto the conference table and ran toward the exit.

His body protested against the unexpected exercise, but he ignored it and ran to the front of the base. It was still raining – harder now, in fact, and the parking lot had almost emptied out.

And Natasha's car was just pulling towards the road.

"Natasha!" Clint shouted. _"Natasha!"_ He waved his arms wildly and took off running after the vehicle. Rainwater poured down into his eyes, and his clothes were soaked through with cold water in seconds.

He saw Natasha's brake lights come on.

 _Thank goodness,_ he thought, putting on a burst of speed.

And then she was jumping out of the car, her expression panicked as he skidded to a stop on the wet pavement.

 _Oh, boy… I did it again._

"What's wrong?" Natasha demanded, as Clint grabbed her car for support. "Is someone hurt? Was there another attack? Barton, what happened?"  
Clint raised a finger, taking a minute to catch his breath.

"No," he gasped finally. "I just… forgot to say goodbye."

Natasha stared at him like he'd announced that he was giving up archery.

Clint straightened up, and a rivulet of water ran off his shoulder. He could see rain sinking into Natasha's hair, clinging to her eyelashes. Her cheeks were flushed in the chilly air, and a puzzled frown was on her brow. And then it was back: the urge, the desire, the _need_ to kiss her.

He took a step closer. Thunder growled in the sky like a drumroll.

"Tasha," he said softly.

Natasha blinked a couple times, and rainwater ran down her face.

Clint reached out to cup her cheek with his hand.

He stopped halfway, his heart thudding. _What am I doing!?_

Natasha's eyes dropped to his hand, which was hanging awkwardly in the air between them. Her gaze flicked back to his face, and he couldn't read her expression.

Then she spoke.

"It's right."

Clint blinked. "Right… _what,_ now?"

"Hand," she replied. "You use the _right_ hand for handshakes."

Clint blinked again. There was another rumble of thunder, but this time it sounded like the sky was laughing at him.

Laughing at his stupid attempts to show her that he liked her. Laughing at the question in his mind of whether she liked him, too. Laughing at his general idiotic existence.

Clint swallowed.

"I know," he said faintly. "I was just… waving."

Natasha squinted and tilted her head. A stream of water dripped from her curls.

Clint forced a smile and waved his hand awkwardly at her. "Bye, Nat."

He saw her gaze drop to his smile, probably analyzing how obviously fake it was. Then she looked up at his eyes without speaking.

Clint swallowed again. "See ya later," he stammered.

Then he turned and headed quickly toward his car.


	20. Step 19

**Finished bright and early this morning!**

 **AH I'm so excited about this chapter. I kindof love it. Hopefully I'm not the only one.**

 **Enjoy!,!**

* * *

After all the awkwardness of the previous day, Clint wasn't exactly looking forward to seeing Natasha again. Or at least, he did want to _see_ her, he just wasn't looking forward to the awkwardness that was likely to follow when he did.

But, like it or not, it was his day to pick up Strela, so he was going to have to see her. Still, he spent most of the day mentally preparing himself and making excuses not to go to HQ. The fewer times he saw her, the less awkward it was likely to be. At least, that was his rationale.

He kept putting off the inevitable visit, until it was nine pm, and it would be weird to drop by any later. Then he made himself moderately presentable, and prepared to go to Natasha's place.

Before he left his home, he checked the List again:

19.) Kiss them on the cheek and hug them goodbye, instead of just saying it.

Clint froze.

 _Oh, great._

Kiss her?

His heart started beating a little faster at the thought. That would be disgustingly awkward, given how things were between them right now. Should he even do this? Should he just skip it? Maybe he should.

But as awkward as he imagined it would be, and as much as he was telling himself that he shouldn't do it… he actually really wanted to do it.

 _Hey, maybe it'll be a little awkward, but I've never skipped a Step before, right? And none of the other Steps have been a disaster… well okay maybe kind of. But still. This could be good._

So after thinking it through a little more, Clint decided to just go ahead and go through with it.

 _In the name of Never Skipping Steps._

…

It was a quarter after nine when Clint found himself standing outside Natasha's apartment. He took a preparatory breath.

 _Okay. It's just Natasha's house. You've been here a million times. This is normal. Just be normal._

He reached out and knocked on the door.

After a few seconds, he could hear activity on the other side of the door. Then the doorknob shuddered.

 _Just be cool._

Natasha was laughing when she opened the door, turning her head over her shoulder toward the kitchen. Then her gaze landed on him, and she quieted.

"Hi," she said after a moment.

Clint nodded his greeting, trying not to stare. Her outfit consisted of denim shorts and a red, strappy tank top, and her hair was curled loosely and pinned away from her face. He didn't know whether she got prettier every day, or he fell more in love with her every day. Maybe both.

Natasha leaned a hand against the door frame. "What's going on?" she asked. She wasn't smiling, but Clint could tell by her eyes that she was pleased to see him – which surprised him a little.

"I'm here for the kitten," Clint replied. He paused. "It… is my day, right?"

Natasha frowned thoughtfully and nodded. "Mm, I think so." She took a pull at the beer bottle in her hand, and at the same moment, there was an explosion of laughter from the kitchen. That was when it clicked – she had company.

"Oh, sorry… is this a bad time?" Clint asked quickly. (It occurred to him, belatedly, that he should have texted her that he was coming.)

Natasha started. "Oh! Oh, no, it's fine! Sorry… come on in." She opened the door wider, and he stepped in.

Natasha led the way to the kitchen. Sitting in the barstools were Pepper Potts, Maria Hill, Bobbi Morse, and Melinda May.

Natasha cleared her throat.

"Barton's here," she said rather sharply.

The four women turned around, and their faces broke into huge grins when they saw him.

"Clint!" "How great to see you!" "Sit down!"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "He doesn't come here for Girls' Night," she said dryly. "He's not staying long."

"But he can have a beer, right?" May said, grabbing a spare.

Natasha shrugged. "Yeah, 'course." She trudged into the kitchen and leaned against the counter as Clint was handed a beer bottle.

Clint was getting the distinct impression that Natasha didn't want him here, which was weird, because she'd seemed happy to see him before. (Talk about mixed signals.) He was about to ask if she wanted him to leave, but her four friends were eagerly pulling him into a barstool, and seemed delighted to have him there. So he decided to stick around and chat, just for a minute.

"So what brings you here, Barton?" Hill asked. " 'Duty calls'… something like that?"

From her spot on the counter, Natasha huffed loudly. "Hill," she said, and it sounded like a warning. Clint glanced over, and it might have been the lighting, but he thought she looked a little red. "He's just here for my kitten."

"Oh, he's here for your pussy?" Bobbi asked.

The question sounded completely innocent, but suddenly a double meaning occurred to Clint, and he blushed a little. He glanced at Natasha to see if she had caught onto it too, but she had apparently swallowed some beer the wrong way and was in the middle of a coughing fit.

"You know, we were just talking about you before you walked in," Hill told Clint.

Clint blinked. "Me?"

"Yeah," May agreed. "Nat brought you up."

Clint looked at Nat, who was scowling at May. "She… did?"

"Yeah, she did," Pepper broke in. "We were just talking about your great idea at the conference last night."

"Oh," Clint said, slightly disappointed. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting.

"Yeah," Bobbi said, leaning onto her elbow. "Nat was just talking about how you just _pulled_ that idea out of nowhere, and just _released_ it in front of all those people like it was no big deal. It takes a strong man to do that. Right, Nat?"

Nat was staring at her beer bottle like it was a priceless relic and didn't appear to have heard her.

"Oh," Clint said, slightly confused. "Well, thanks. It just seemed kinda obvious to me."

"It's a great idea," May told him. "I'd almost call it… mesmerizing."

All of the women were grinning at Natasha now, who was intensely focused on examining her fingernails. Clint was definitely bewildered now, but then it clicked. They must have some kind of inside joke that they were somehow communicating through their conversation. He wondered why Natasha looked so uncomfortable.

Pepper cleared her throat. "You know, Clint, they really are going to use your suggestion."

Clint looked at her in surprise. "They are?"

Pepper nodded. "They've fixed it with the UN. The conference is tomorrow, at the Supreme Court building."

"Tomorrow?" Clint repeated. "That was fast."

"I guess they wanted to get on your idea as quickly as possible," Pepper replied.

"That's really, really smart," Bobbi spoke up. "They're doing it right away. They're doing Clint's thing as quickly as possible. Good advice."

"Okay, you know what?" Natasha had jumped off the counter, and she looked decidedly red now. "We are going to go get the kitten. Barton?" She stalked into the bedroom without waiting to see if he was following.

Clint glanced apologetically at the others. "Gotta run." He slipped off his barstool and hurried into the bedroom.

Natasha was kneeling by a little cat-bed next to the wall. Strela was stretched out asleep on it.

 _Awww._

Clint crossed the room and knelt down next to her.

"She sleeps most the time," Natasha said, her eyes fixed on the kitten. "Just feed her three to four times a day. She eats wet cat food. It's in the carrier. Here." She pulled a few cans of cat food out of the cat carrier and pushed them toward him.

Clint picked up the cans. "Anything else I should know?"

Natasha shook her head without looking at him. There was a short silence.

"Okay. We have to put her in the carrier now. She'll wake up," Natasha said. She reached over and stroked the kitten's head with one finger. "Okay, baby. You gotta get up now, okay?"

The kitten stirred. Then she yawned, sticking out her little pink tongue. Her eyes blinked sleepily, and she stretched, splaying her claws out in front of her.

Clint chuckled at the sight, glancing at Natasha.

She was watching the kitten with a big smile on her face. Then she turned to look at him, and her bright eyes fastened on his.

Clint stopped breathing. He hadn't realized how close they were sitting.

Natasha's smile slowly faded, replaced by a thoughtful expression. Her eyes skimmed across his face, and Clint held perfectly still. He always felt like he didn't have the right to move when she was looking at him like that.

Then her brow creased slightly, and she looked quickly back at Strela.

"Ready to go?" she asked the kitten.

Clint watched quietly as Natasha transferred Strela to the cat carrier.

"Natasha," he said after a moment.

She turned and met his eyes.

Clint jerked his head toward the kitchen. "What was…?"

Natasha glanced toward the kitchen to where her four guests were sitting, and understanding broke across her face. "Oh. That." She laughed awkwardly and busied herself with locking up the carrier.

"Nothing," she said finally. "They were just teasing me." She stood up, picking up the cat carrier. "Ready?"

Clint nodded and stood up.

They both walked through the kitchen towards the door.

"Are you leaving, Clint?" Pepper called.

"Yeah," Clint said. "I'll see you, though."

They all called their goodbyes as he and Natasha stepped out into the hall.

Natasha pulled the door to and held the carrier towards him. "Here."

Clint's fingers brushed hers on the handle as he took the carrier. _Step 19._

"See you tomorrow." Nat started to head back inside.

"Wait, Nat." Clint set down the cat carrier, as Natasha turned back around, eyes wide and expectant.

Clint hesitated.

 _Just do it._

Clint took a step toward her. She froze, studying his face.

 _Just do it, dammit!_

Clint gathered his courage and quickly stepped up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She stiffened, but didn't pull away.

And she felt so warm in his arms, so right. Clint could feel her heart beating against his, he could faintly scent her shampoo. For a second, he was lost in the moment, closing his eyes, savoring it. He had never held her like this before.

 _Right. Got to finish this._

He drew back slightly and held the side of her face with one hand. He could see her expression now; her lips were parted, her big eyes searching his.

Clint leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.

He could feel her breath on his ear, her lashes tickling his cheek. And then suddenly, screw the Steps, he just wanted to kiss her on the mouth and have done with it.

But then he felt her hands on his chest, nudging him slightly away. Immediately, Clint stepped back, worried he had taken it too far.

He caught the slightest glimpse of her face before she turned away.

She didn't look mad. Just disappointed.

Without a word, she disappeared through her door.

* * *

 **IceDragoness1 - Aww thank you so much dawl! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far! :)**

 **Mockingjay500 - I literally smiled the whole time I was reading your reviews My face hurts. I'm glad you enjoyed the chapters! But that sucks about your late night/early morning thingy. Go take a long nap sweetie. x) And yeah, the formula for currency conversion is real. I wanted it to be as realistic as possible so I looked it up. Plus, there's no way I could come up with that on my own. x)**

 **Everybody have a fantastic Sunday! I have somewhat low expectations for the next chapter, but hopefully I'll surprise myself. :)**

 **ALSO CIVIL WAR COMES OUT IN AMERICA THIS WEEK IM SCREAMING HELP**


	21. Step 20

**Sorry I didn't post yesterday! My lame excuse is that I slept in, then I had some hw before a kind of early class. :/**

 **Anyways, I'm making up for it with the longest chapter yet. x) This is the conference chapter, so hopefully it's not too boring... I actually did surprise myself though. :)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The conference with the UN was set for 1300 on Thursday. Fury had sent out a memo saying that all SHIELD levels were encouraged to attend (which probably meant they should be there, or risk Fury's fury the next time he saw them). So, around a quarter till, Clint changed into a gray business suit, gave Strela something to eat (so she wouldn't get hungry while he was gone), and prepared to leave.

Before he walked out the door, he remembered the List.

Honestly, he was slightly pissed at himself for remembering. Given how the last few Steps had gone, he would have preferred it if he had completely spaced it until after the conference. Especially given that pretty much all of SHIELD would be in attendance, and he was probably going to make a fool of himself. Again.

But since he had remembered, he couldn't bring himself to just skip, because he'd-never-skipped-a-step-before and he was so close to the end now – just two more steps, and he'd be free from the List, or 'The Order of Utter and Complete Humiliation, as he'd taken to calling it (OUCH for short). And then he could just sit back and wait for Natasha to take the hint. No, wait, the _hints._ Twenty-one of them to be exact.

So Clint broke down and looked at Step 20:

20.) Respect space.

"Really?" Clint exploded, and Strela jumped. _"Now_ you finally say it – after three weeks of grinning creepily at her across rooms, hiring my friends to talk me up, calling her during dates, half-killing myself to track her down and say 'hello', buying her cats, holding her hand, and grabbing her to kiss her on the cheek, just to name a few… _Now_ you finally tell me to 'respect space'." He snorted. "Nice. Thank you."

He shut his laptop and stalked to the door, muttering "Finally, something I can't screw up" under his breath.

…

Parking near the Supreme Court building was scarce. SHIELD agents from all over had come for the conference, from preppy, wet-behind-the-ears Level Ones to experienced, hardened Level Tens.

Clint wasted several minutes driving around in circles, trying to find a spot. In the end, he had to pay ten bucks to park at a lot that was about half-a-mile away from the building ("Ten freaking bucks!"). Fortunately, it was a clear, sunny day, if a little chilly, so the walk to the building was not too unpleasant.

By this time, it was uncomfortably close to 1300. Clint hurried up the marble staircase and entered the Supreme Court building.

The marble, high-ceilinged lobby was crowded with SHIELD agents in business suits. Clint weaved through the crowd, trying to find a familiar face. (Subconsciously, he was looking for one specific familiar face, even though he had determined to keep his distance.) He spied Bobbi Morse by the wall, bickering with her ex-husband, an angry little man who Clint had only seen a couple times – Hoover? Holder? Something like that. He headed towards them.

"But really, Bob," Bobbi's ex was saying when Clint approached. "The price of Freddos has gone up by nearly eight pence in the past month, it's bloody outrageous! Don't tell me that doesn't bother you."

"We are at a conference with the United Nations," Bobbi said dryly. "Can't you complain about your precious Freddos later?" At that point she noticed Clint, and broke into a smile. "Hey Clint!"

"Hi," Clint greeted. He glanced awkwardly at her ex, who was eyeing him suspiciously with his hands in his pockets. "Hey."

"Hello, mate," the ex said, still watching him warily. (Clint suddenly wondered if Bobbi had told him that they used to date.)

"They're going to start soon. You made it just in time," Bobbi said. She craned her neck, peering around the room. "I don't know where Nat went. She was just here."

"It's fine, don't worry about it," Clint said quickly. "I'll catch up with her later."

"Okay." Bobbi's text alert went off, and she took her phone out and looked at the screen. Clint looked awkwardly back at her ex, who hadn't moved a single muscle. He was still surveying Clint in the same skeptical attitude.

"Handler, wasn't it?" Clint guessed.

Bobbi's ex looked miffed. _"Hunter,_ thank-you-very-much."

"Sorry. Hunter," Clint amended quickly.

He sensed a shift in the crowd around them, and he turned his head. Everyone was heading out of the lobby and into the conference room.

"We should go," Bobbi said quickly. "We have seats with Daisy and May. Come on, Hunter." She headed briskly towards the conference room. Her ex shot Clint one last dubious glare before following.

Clint strolled slowly into the conference room, an enormous, dome-ceilinged area with chairs all around. It was a matter of seconds before he saw her: a redhead sitting near the front of the room. She was twisting in her chair, eyes flickering across those coming through the door, as if she was looking for someone.

Clint slowed to a stop.

Her gaze landed on him, and she smiled and lifted a hand in greeting.

Clint waved back. He saw that there was an empty seat next to her, and for a moment he thought about taking it.

 _Respect space._

Instead, he tossed her a quick smile and took a seat in the back row.

(On the upside, it didn't look like she was upset about what had happened yesterday anymore.)

"SHIELD," a UN rep was saying. "Come to order."

Gradually, the room quieted.

Clint looked up to the front of the room. Six or seven people from United Nations were sitting up behind the podium, as well as several Level Tens: Clint recognized Nick Fury, Maria Hill, Victoria Hand, Noelle Walters, and Anne Weaver.

"We have convened here today," the UN rep went on, "to discuss some recent problems that have come to light concerning the actions of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. Following a recent attack on the Central Intelligence Agency…" The rep kept talking, explaining basically what Fury had already explained to them all on Tuesday. Clint was pretty sure that this guy's voice had been genetically engineered to make people fall asleep. He suddenly wished he was sitting next to Natasha so he could whisper that to her and make her laugh.

"…Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD, to come forward and make their case." The rep finally finished, after what seemed like roughly two and a half hours of talking. He sunk down into his chair, and Fury stood up.

"Concerning the recent attack on the Central Intelligence Agency," he began. "As we have already expressed publicly, this attack, while performed with SHIELD resources, was not a SHIELD-issued attack, nor was it carried out by SHIELD agents. It was performed by the hostile organization known as HYDRA, whose agents were using nanotechnology to impersonate SHIELD officers.

"While we have testified that this particular attack was not carried out by SHIELD, we freely confess to having initiated similar attacks in the past, though not on the CIA or other non-hostile organizations. However, we also affirm that in every case, these attacks were executed for the good of the public, and…"

Fury's voice was considerably less boring to listen to, but he was talking about pretty boring stuff, in Clint's opinion. He understood that this was an important conference, of course, and that SHIELD was at stake, but it was still violently tedious.

Finally the UN rep stood up again. "You all have heard Director Fury assert that all of SHIELD's actions have been for the good of the people," he began, in that monotonously slow voice that reminded Clint of a sloth. "However, might I suggest that it is not SHIELD's responsibility to decide what constitutes the good of the public? The government has appointed law enforcement officers to decide…"

And that was where Clint stopped listening. It was vastly more exciting to stare at the back of Natasha's head, even though she wasn't moving. He contemplated her hair color for several thrilling minutes, noting how the dull yellowish light in the room distorted it a little.

Anne Weaver stood up next. "Sir," she began, and just that one word in her clipped, accented tone was so much more interesting than the UN rep's entire speech. "We acknowledge the fact that the government has appointed law enforcement officers to protect the people. However, the point of specialized organizations such as SHIELD is to defend the people when the government cannot. It is the same justification as with the Avengers. We recognize the fact that we work outside the law, in the government's understanding of 'the law', but we only presume to work in situations where the intervention of law enforcement officers would be insufficient or superfluous."

She returned to her seat.

 _(Mic drop.)_

Honestly, Clint only understood about 60% of what she had actually said, but it sounded good – plus he liked the fact that she had kept it short and to the point, unlike the UN rep.

Speak of the devil…

"You have all heard Agent Weaver affirm that SHIELD works outside the law," the rep said. _(Of course we did, dummy, we were all sitting right here.)_ "Now my question is, can SHIELD, or any non-governmental organization, assume such power without authorization? If SHIELD establishes itself as being outside the law, that gives them unsanctioned control without any checks and balances, which can lead to abuse of power and…"

And Clint was back to staring at the back of Natasha's head.

She hadn't moved the whole time he'd been watching her, but suddenly, she turned her head and looked right at him. Clint jumped.

 _Oops._

He quickly looked away, but he was too late. She had already caught him staring.

After a moment, he looked back at her with a sheepish smile. She smirked, then looked forward again.

Clint sat there for a minute, wondering how the hell she had known he was looking at her. Maybe she had felt him – she was creepily good at that. He had heard her talk before about feeling his gaze on her during their missions, how it made her feel safe, like he had her back. Maybe she had gotten really good at recognizing that feeling.

 _Oh, crap. I have GOT to stop staring at her._

He tried hard to focus on the slow-talking UN guy, who was coming to the end of his monologue.

"…and if non-hostile organizations such as SHIELD can have that kind of unchecked power, with no restrictions, then what about hostile agencies?" the guy was saying sluggishly. "If we don't eradicate SHIELD, or at the very least place restrictions on it, then that same unlimited power will continue to be assumed by organizations that are hostile towards society." He took a seat.

This time Hill stood up.

 _Oh, this is gonna be good._

"With all due respect, sir," Hill began dryly.

Clint started grinning. Whenever Hill started a sentence with 'with all due respect', that meant that someone was about to get pounded.

"Placing restrictions on 'rogue intelligence agencies', as you call them, would do nothing to remove the daily threat on society. In fact, it would achieve the opposite. SHIELD is a peace-seeking organization, so you are guaranteed concurrence should you choose to enforce restrictions on us. However, hostile associations, by definition, would not agree to abide under whatever laws you would choose to place on us. They are already antagonistic towards our cause, but given the power we maintain as of now, we are able to keep them in check. On the other hand, should you choose to place restrictions on non-governmental agencies, these hostile organizations would rise in power due to SHIELD's fall, and their attacks, and their maneuvers, would not be beneficial to the public in the way that SHIELD's are. They would cause incalculable damage to our society."

Hill sat down.

 _Dang._

 _We are so winning this thing._

Clint didn't really pay attention to any of the rest of the conference. He spent his time gazing up at the impressive dome, counting wall murals, and trying not to stare at Natasha. The time passed excruciatingly slowly, but finally, the UN rep stood up and announced that they were adjourning.

"The Level Tens will remain with the UN to discuss this issue," he said. "The rest of you are dismissed."

Everyone stood up, and there was a mass exodus to escape the marble prison chamber. Apparently Clint was not the only one who had been bored by the meeting.

During his attempts to reach the lobby without getting trampled, Natasha appeared at his elbow.

"Hey," she greeted quietly.

"Hi," Clint replied.

They didn't speak again as they picked their way back to the lobby.

Clint found a bench beside the wall and plopped down onto it. Natasha collapsed beside him.

"That was intense," she commented.

Clint snorted. " 'Intense' is not the word that comes to mind."

Natasha turned to him, one eyebrow raised in amusement. "Oh, no?"

Clint turned his head, and suddenly he realized how close he was to her. _Respect space._ He edged slightly away from her on the bench, and saw her eyes flick down, tracking his movement.

"Nah," he said finally. "I thought it was boring."

Natasha hmmed, watching him closely. Self-conscious under her inspection, Clint looked away.

He spotted Bobbi and Hunter squabbling across the room, and he quickly stood up. Natasha frowned up at him.

"I'm gonna go, uh, talk to Bobbi for a sec," he said quickly. "Be right back." He hurried away.

It wasn't that he didn't want to be around Natasha. He did – in fact, he hated walking away from her. But the List had a point – after being hounded by him for the past three weeks, she deserved a break from his constant, and probably irritating, presence.

"I'm serious, Bob!" Hunter was saying. "He was flat-out _ogling_ you. I'm not saying I'm _jealous,_ I just think it's bloody disrespectful to stare at—" He broke off as Clint stopped beside them, and glared at the archer.

Bobbi sighed and looked at Clint. "Hunter thinks you're interested in me," she said wryly.

"What?" Clint laughed. "Are you serious?"

Hunter gave a sharp nod.

Clint smiled and shook his head. "We haven't dated in like eight years, man," he told the Brit. "I've moved on. And I'm sure Bobbi feels the same way."

"See? That's what I keep telling you," Bobbi said in exasperation.

Hunter eyed Clint doubtfully. Clint was starting to get used to it.

A hush started unexpectedly settling over the crowd. Clint turned and saw the UN reps and the Level Tens exiting the conference room. They were speaking in low tones, all shaking hands. Then the UN representatives started towards the exit. The crowd of SHIELD agents parted to let them pass.

No one spoke until all six-or-seven of them had left the building.

Then Fury spoke.

"The United Nations," he said. "has agreed to let us keep functioning."

The lobby erupted in cheering.

Clint was clapping wildly, grinning as he watched Bobbi grab an astonished Hunter and kiss him on the mouth. He looked around the room at all the smiling faces, and his gaze fastened on the person he was looking for.

She was hugging Antoine Triplett.

Clint swallowed and looked away.

Agent Walters spoke above the uproar.

"We're going to celebrate!" she announced. "A party, tomorrow night, and all of SHIELD is invited! I hope to see you all there!"

Clint laughed at the shocked look on Fury's face. The he looked back at Natasha. She was talking to Triplett now, and they were both laughing about something.

 _Well… I guess I can go now, right?_

Clint headed across the lobby towards the exit. He knew deep down that Nat wasn't really interested in Triplett or anything like that, but it still wasn't exactly awesome to watch her hug other guys. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped outside.

He had made it halfway down the stairs when someone spoke behind him.

"Barton?"

Clint's heart leapt excitedly, and he turned.

Natasha was standing at the top of the stairs with one hand on the railing, looking down at him with her brow creased.

Clint cleared his throat and took a couple steps up towards her. "Yeah."

Natasha opened her mouth to speak, then paused and turned her head away. She picked at the railing for a minute.

"Just… I mean, if… If I…" She broke off and looked at him again. "Barton, is something wrong?"

Clint blinked. "Wrong? With me? Course not." He hesitated. "Is something wrong with _you_?"

She shook her head. "No, no, I just…" She stepped a stair closer to him. "You just seemed a little… I don't know. Distant."

 _Yep, that's the goal._

"I just – I hope I didn't do something to upset you," she said quietly, looking at her shoes.

Clint laughed incredulously. "You? Upset me? Don't be ridiculous, Romanoff."

She smiled a little and met his eyes again. "So… we're good then?"

"Course!" Clint said cheerfully.

Natasha was studying him closely, as she had been doing so often lately. "Okay," she said vaguely.

Clint cleared his throat again.

"Well," he said. "Guess I better go now. I'll see you later."

He turned and hurried down the steps. Natasha didn't call him back.

(It was only then that it occurred to him that Step 20 had said to _respect_ space, not create it.)

* * *

 **The avid AOS fan will notice a problem: By the time Skye was called Daisy; Hand and Triplett wouldn't have been around anymore. In response to that, I would just say that this is kind of an AU. Cause according to canon, Clint should have like 2 kids right now (I know, I try not to think about it too). So I know it doesn't make much sense, but just roll with it. My guess is that you don't set much store by MCU canon, seeing as you're reading a Clintasha story. x)**

 **So the next step, I think I've decided is going to be a three-parter. I have big plans for these guys, and I am so pumped for you all to see! :D  
**


	22. Step 21 - Part A

**Greetings, fellow Marvelites!**

 **Mockingjay500 - YASS NAT BACKSTORY ikr like pls get rid of aou BUT hopefully this time, they will use her backstory for more than just making her feel guilty about not being able to have kids thus making her more "compatible with Bruce" x(**

 **Buu22 - ikr like the kids are cute-looking and all but couldn't they have been, like, Clint's nephews or something?,? Sigh. Whedon...**

 **Anyways! Here's the Final Step! :D**

* * *

Agent Walters held true to her promise to arrange a 'thank-goodness-SHIELD-didn't-kick-the-bucket' party. More details were sent out to all SHIELD bases: SHIELD was renting out some fancy building in town, and there would be wine and music and dancing.

The party started at ten, so Clint ate a quick supper before he left. And after he fed Strela, he got out his laptop to look at The Last Step.

Step 21. Finally he was here. After twenty different Steps, some good, some bad, some fun, some straight-out ridiculous, he had finally made it all the way to the end, to the twenty-first Step.

It had been a long, crazy ride, but he was ready to do it. He was ready to finish this. He would drop the last Step at the party tonight (the perfect opportunity – he and Natasha would be dressed to the nines, and it was a sumptuous event), and then, at long last, he would be able to just sit back and wait for Natasha to get the picture. No more buying kittens, or forcing fantasy novels on her, or chasing her around to say hello. Just, waiting.

One more Step.

With a strange nostalgic sort of feeling, Clint pulled up the webpage. He scrolled slowly though all the Steps, briefly glancing at each one as he passed it. Have a friend ask about you. Call them. Don't leave without saying goodbye. The memories of all his attempts floated through his mind, and he was smiling when he finally scrolled all the way to the bottom to look at the very last Step:

21.) Tell them.

Clint froze.

 _Tell them._

Tell them? As in, tell the person who you're trying to impress how you really feel about them?

 _I can't do that!_

Clint glared accusingly at his innocent laptop screen. _This is called '21 Ways to HINT That you Like Someone'! HINT! H-I-N-T, as in, you don't actually have to tell them!_

Clint stared at the two words for a minute. For the briefest of seconds, he considered it – but no, he couldn't.

 _This list is just ideas, general guidelines to hint that you like someone. It doesn't know me and Natasha personally, it doesn't know how disastrous this would be._

Strela looked up at him from her cat bed.

"What?" Clint said aloud. "It's not that I'm _afraid,_ it's just… this isn't a hint. This is a flat-out declaration. So, technically, I _did_ complete all the _hints._ Technically, I'm done." He shut his laptop and stalked into his room to change into his tux.

…

Clint was right about his guess that the party would be extravagant. He didn't know the name of the building SHIELD was renting, but it was gorgeous – long, smooth marble floors, intricate, floor-to-ceiling pillars, flickering candles on the walls, an ornate, tiled ceiling. When he stepped into the regal building, it was already filled with SHIELD agents, decked out in tuxedos and expensive dresses. Clint began slowly walking through the room, admiring the elaborate decorations and listening to the light music on the air.

 _Where is she?_

Even though Clint was set against going through with Step 21, his eyes still scanned the room, looking for the object of his affections, so to speak.

Then he spotted the bar, and he quickened his steps towards it.

He had ordered a tall glass of red wine and was a few sips in when Bobbi and Hunter approached the bar.

Bobbi was looking lovely in a light blue gown, and she and her ex were holding hands.

"Hey," Bobbi greeted, as Hunter ordered two champagnes.

"Hi," Clint said, glancing in confusion at their interlocked hands.

Bobbi noticed the look and laughed. "Oh, yeah… me and Hunter sort of got back together."

Hunter looked over and grinned proudly.

"Oh! Congrats," Clint said.

"Thank you."

Hunter retrieved the two champagne glasses and passed one to Bobbi. "There you are, love. Happy 'SHIELD-wasn't-cancelled' day." He clinked his glass to hers, and they both drank.

Clint cleared his throat.

"So… just out of curiosity… is Natasha here?"

Bobbi lowered her glass. "I don't think so. I haven't seen her. Maybe she's coming later."

Hunter took Bobbi's glass back and set it with his on the counter. "C'mon, Bob. Dance with me." He started tugging her toward the dance floor.

Bobbi looked over her shoulder. "See you later!"

The two of them vanished into the crowd.

Clint took another sip of his wine. He leaned back against the wall and stuck one hand in his pocket, his gaze skimming across the room again. He glanced towards the door—

–and there she was. She had just entered the room, wearing a long gold dress with a slit up one side. Her hair was loosely curled, and tall heels afforded her several extra inches of height.

It crossed Clint's mind again: Did she really get prettier every day? Or was he falling more in love with her every second?

He knew at least the second one was true.

Clint was not the only one who had noticed how extraordinary she looked. But Natasha ignored the stares she was getting and headed straight for the bar.

Seconds later, she was mere feet away from him, ordering champagne.

She looked even more amazing up close. Clint took a careful swallow of his wine, using all his concentration to keep from staring openly at her.

Then she looked right at him. And smiled.

 _Dammit. This is going to be hard._

Natasha leaned one elbow onto the bar and smirked at him. "Hey there."

Clint nodded, staring fixedly at the rim of his wine glass. "You look good."

"You don't look so bad yourself."

"Thanks," Clint said awkwardly.

The bartender slid Natasha her drink.

She took a sip, then nodded towards Bobbi and Hunter's abandoned champagne glasses. "Hunter and Morse get together again?"

Now Clint _did_ stare at her. "How did you…"

She pointed at Bobbi's glass. "Morse's lipstick color." Then she pointed at Hunter's cup. "Hunter's fingerprints."

Clint stared at Hunter's cup, trying to figure out how the hell Natasha had both seen and recognized Hunter's fingerprints.

"Plus, I saw them making out," Natasha added mischievously.

Clint groaned, as Natasha chuckled. "Really had me going there for a minute, Romanoff."

Natasha tilted her head and looked thoughtfully at him. That piercing gaze again… Clint wondered what she was thinking.

 _Step 21._

Clint cleared his throat. "So…" he said clumsily. "Wanna dance?"

Natasha paused. Then she set down her cup. "Sure, why not."

"Okay." Clint hurriedly set his own glass down and they both headed toward the dance floor.

Then they were among the dancing, spinning couples. Somewhat awkwardly, Clint took Natasha's hand, and she set her free hand on his shoulder. Then he put his other hand at her waist, and they stepped into a simple waltz.

After a moment, Natasha smiled slightly. "Haven't done this since Moscow."

 _Moscow…_ Clint tried to remember, but he was having trouble thinking. Natasha was so close to him, her green eyes were fixed on him, and he could smell her perfume. His heart jumped when she readjusted her grip on his hand.

Gradually it came to him. A few months ago, they had been undercover in Moscow, Russia on a snowy night. They had had ins at a fancy ball, and they had waltzed together, and... they had kissed. The memory hit Clint suddenly. At the time, he hadn't cared for Natasha in the way that he did now, so the kiss had been no more than a way to uphold their cover. He hadn't felt anything special – it was just another cover where they were a couple and they had to make it realistic. Standard undercover op.

But now he would give anything to be able to kiss her like that again.

He caught himself staring at her lips and he quickly looked away, embarrassed. Luckily Natasha didn't seem to notice.

He wondered if she was thinking about that kiss, too.

And suddenly he had to tell her. Maybe the List was right – he had spent all that time building up to this moment. Maybe now was the right time.

They had gradually danced away from the center of the dance floor, and were nearer to the wall, slightly withdrawn from the main group of dancers. Clint could feel his pulse quickening, and he took a deep breath to steady himself.

"Natasha," he said softly.

She looked artlessly up at him.

They had come to a standstill, and now she was studying him again with those unfathomable eyes, waiting for him to speak.

Clint swallowed and released her hand.

Natasha's hand slipped off his shoulder. "What is it?"

Maybe he should have let go of her waist, but he didn't. He kept a firm hold on her, formulating his next sentence as she frowned up at him.

He sighed. "Nat, I don't know how to say this without sounding like an idiot, but…" He hesitated, searching her face. She was biting her lip, eyes flickering back and forth between his as she listened.

 _I can do this. I'm so in love with her, it's time she knew._

Clint took a slow breath. "I'm – I'm so—"

Natasha raised her eyebrows.

Clint swallowed again. "—glad you came tonight," he said faintly.

Natasha went still.

Clint cleared his throat. "I know I was acting kind of aloof yesterday, and I was afraid it would prevent you from coming. I'm just glad it didn't." He forced a smile.

Natasha was still examining his face, but then she smiled back. "Me too," she said quietly.

Clint nodded. There was an awkward silence.

Then Clint stepped back, and his hand fell away from her waist. "I'm gonna get something to drink," he muttered, and he pivoted and strode back towards the bar.

He just couldn't do it. He couldn't tell her. And this time, it wasn't just because he was scared of how she would react.

It was because this was _Natasha._ The best thing in his life. He was in love with her, yes – _madly_ in love with her, but she was also his best friend.

And he was afraid if he told her how insanely in love with her he was, it would scare her away.

He just couldn't risk it, he had so much already. She was his best friend in the world, she trusted and loved him more than anyone else. Could he really presume to ask more than that? Could he really put the person who was most important to him on the line?

No, he couldn't do that. Nothing could be worth risking her friendship. Because even though he loved her as _more_ than just a friend, he did love her as a friend. That was at the heart of their relationship: they were two friends who cared about each other more than anything else in the world. And in the end, maybe that was all that really mattered.

* * *

 **...The End.**

 **...**

 **of Part 1. xD Part two will hopefully come out tomorrow! :D**


	23. Step 21 - Part B

**NRomanoff, Liv, and Ravenpuff Nerd - Omg thank you so muchhhhh! ^-^ You guys are honestly so nice, I'm glad you're happy with how this fic is turning out! :)**

 **(Oh, and Ravenpuff Nerd - GOOD LUCK ON YOUR AP TESTS! Thank goodness I have years before I have to worry about all that college stuff... phew. x)**

 **Guest - YES THEY COULD HAVE DONE SO MUCH. They could've brought in Barney, Kate Bishop, Lucky... and instead they invent this random family... :(**

 **Mockingjay500 - OMW IKR. Like, whenever I debate people about aou, they're always like 'no but the sterilization makes sense' and I'm just like 'yes it does, that's not the point. The point is what they ended up doing with that storyline.' Ugh...**

 **Sorry, haha - if you can't tell, ranting about AOU is one of my favorite things to do. x)**

 **Anyways! The story. Enjoy...**

* * *

Clint picked his way back to the bar and found his wine glass. The wine had gone warm in the heat of the room, so he asked for a new one.

One glance over his shoulder at his partner found her standing where he had left her, arms crossed, frowning at the floor, seemingly deep in thought.

Then the bartender passed Clint's freshly chilled wine out, and he turned his back on Natasha, forcing her from his mind.

 _It's for the best,_ he told himself, leaning his elbows onto the counter. _This is for the best._

He tried to believe himself.

He stayed there for several minutes, taking more sips of the cold wine. Finally, he straightened. He couldn't stand here sulking at the bar all day – people would think something was wrong. Scratch that, people would _know_ something was wrong. He was going to have to get engaged somehow.

He turned and walked straight into Natasha.

No, no, he didn't just turn around and find her right behind him. He walked straight into her, literally.

She was opening her mouth, about to speak, when he collided with her.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. The arm holding his wine glass was jostled, and the cup slipped from his fingers. The glass fell toward the floor, spilling wine all over Natasha's shiny gold dress.

The cup splintered into pieces on the hard floor, and shards of glass were sprayed across the floor in every direction.

A loud gasp rose up from the onlookers.

Clint was frozen in horror, watching as the wine stain streaked rapidly across the expensive fabric. Natasha looked down at her soiled dress, then looked back up at Clint without speaking.

Clint just stood there with his mouth open, staring at her in dismay.

Natasha pivoted and stalked towards the hall.

Clint just stared after her, horrified. _What have you done…_

The bartender had come around and was starting to pick up the broken glass. Clint shook himself, then stooped down to help.

"I'm so sorry," he heard himself say, but the bartender waved him away with polite reassurances. Clint looked up, and saw a flash of Natasha disappearing into the hall.

 _She's going to be so mad._

 _And I forgot to say sorry…_

He jumped to his feet, apologizing to the bartender again, then took off running towards the hall.

He finally managed to maneuver across the dance floor till he got to the corridor. It was a short hallway, but it took a sharp turn at the end. Clint ran around the corner, just in time to see the door at the end of the hall close. He rushed forward and twisted the knob, but the door was locked.

Clint knocked hurriedly at the door. "Nat! Nat, I'm so sorry!" he called in agitation. "It was an accident! Please let me in." He knocked again, harder this time.

He heard the lock click free, and he pushed open the door in relief.

Natasha was standing in the small, harshly lit bathroom, looking intense. Her hair was pulled over one shoulder, and both her arms were bent behind her back.

"Natasha," Clint said in distress. "I'm so so sorry! I didn't mean to spill that all over you, I feel awful!"

"It's fine," she murmured distractedly. Her fingers were working hastily at something on her lower back, and he realized with a start that she was unfastening her dress.

 _Oh… that's probably why she locked the door,_ he realized, and warmth rushed to his face.

"Oh – I'm really sorry," he stammered. _Way to go, moron._

"It's fine," Natasha repeated vaguely.

Clint took a step backwards. Natasha had turned her back to the mirror and was twisting her head over her shoulder to see what she was doing. Clint automatically glanced at the mirror, and caught a glimpse of her bare back. He swallowed and quickly looked away.

 _You're supposed to be apologizing to her, not ogling her._

Clint cleared his throat. "I gotta go. But I'll fix this, Tasha, don't worry!" he assured her. "I'll make it all better." He started to leave.

"Barton."

Clint halted and looked apprehensively at her.

Natasha turned her back on him and placed her hands on her hips. The back of her dress was open down to her waist.

Clint froze.

"Zipper," she said briskly.

She wanted him to unzip her…?

Well, he wasn't going to argue.

As soon as he stepped up behind her and pinched the zipper, he realized why she had asked him. The zipper was stuck; it wouldn't move up or down. Clint frowned and tugged uselessly at it.

Natasha looked over her shoulder at him, and he met her green eyes.

Clint cleared his throat again. "Hang on a sec." He knelt down behind her to get a closer look.

 _Concentrate. You're looking at the zipper, not her back._

He examined the chain to see if any fabric had got caught in the teeth. It hadn't. So the problem was probably on the back of the slider.

Fantastic.

Clint hesitated. She probably wasn't going to like this.

Sure enough, when he slipped his thumbs down between her dress and her skin, he felt her tense up. He worked quickly to fold the fabric down.

The back of the slider came into view, and Clint exhaled in relief. He glanced up and saw goosebumps rising on her exposed back, and he realized she must be getting chilly.

He focused his gaze on the zipper again, and saw the problem. There _was_ some fabric caught in the teeth, but on the back. Clint began working to wrench the piece out, trying not to rip the fabric, trying not to think about how his knuckles were brushing her back as he worked. Finally, the piece popped free, and he sighed in relief.

"I think I got it."

She twisted her head to look down at him, and he gave the zipper an experimental tug. It slid down a few inches.

 _Oops._

"Yep, got it," he said quickly, scrambling to his feet.

Natasha turned to face him, and looked thoughtfully at him for a minute. Clint returned her gaze and, dammit, there it was again. He wanted to kiss her. He _needed_ to kiss her.

 _I can't. I can't do that._

Finally Natasha stirred, and took half a step back. Her hand went to her zipper, then she stopped, looking expectantly at him.

Oh, right. She had to change.

"Sorry," Clint said again. He hastily backed out the doorway (hitting his elbow on the doorknob in the process), and pulled the door shut.

(He found that he was very sweaty as he strode down the hall towards the party.)

Natasha didn't have anything to change into, he realized. And that was his fault. He would find someone to help.

He stepped out of the hall and scanned the main room. His gaze fell on Pepper, who was chatting with Bruce – yes, perfect! Pepper always knew what to do.

He made his way towards her across the crowded room, and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around.

"Pepper, I need your help."

"What can I do for you?" she asked, as Bruce excused himself.

Clint took a slow breath. "I spilled wine all over Natasha, and now her dress is stained."

Pepper's hand went to her mouth. "Oh my god."

"I know," Clint said meekly. "She doesn't have anything else to wear, and I don't know what to do. Please help."

Pepper's look of dismay vanished, replaced by an expression of determination. "I don't know. I didn't bring any extra clothes," she said. "I can still help though; I have an idea. I'm working on it." Without waiting for a reply, she marched away.

"Thanks!" Clint called after her. He looked toward the hallway again. Now would probably not be a good time to head back to the bathroom. He would give Natasha some time to work on the stains, he decided, then he would head back.

Clint hung around in the party area for several minutes, whiling away the time, doing nothing in particular. He noticed that the broken glass had been cleaned up, but he couldn't quite bring himself to ask for another drink.

His mind kept jumping to the whole zipper episode, and he had to constantly make himself stop thinking about it. He had determined not to tell Natasha how he felt about her, which meant he should probably start trying to get over her. Which meant he should probably stop picturing her smooth, muscular back, her shoulder blades, the long track of her spine…

 _Stop thinking about it, dammit!_

Once he judged that enough time had passed, Clint finally turned his steps back towards the bathroom. He lingered outside the bathroom door for a bit before finally convincing himself that she'd had enough time to dress.

He knocked softly. "Nat? Is it okay if I come in?"

He heard movement inside the bathroom, then the door opened.

Natasha had put the gold dress back on, and Clint winced when he saw the smeary red stains all over the front.

"Couldn't get it out, then," he said quietly.

She shook her head. "I'll try again later." She backed up to make room for him to come in.

Clint stepped in after her and shut the door. Natasha backed up and leaned against the sink, and Clint stood facing her, looking at those hideous stains in dismay.

"Nat, I'm so sorry," he said sadly, lowering his head. "I'm such an idiot. I make a mess of everything." He shoved his hands despondently into his pockets, wondering how someone like Natasha could even tolerate him. Wondering how he had ever thought she might care about him the way he cared about her.

"Don't stress about it," she said evenly. "It's just a dress."

"It's ruined, though," Clint said, kicking unhappily at the floor. "You'll never be able to wear it again."

"Hey. Don't feel bad about it," she ordered. "It was an accident."

Clint sighed, still not meeting her eyes. "I'm really sorry, Nat."

"Stop apologizing," she said. "I'm really not upset about it, and you shouldn't be either. It'll be fine."

Clint took a deep breath. _She's not upset about it,_ he repeated to himself. _It'll be fine._

He dared to meet her eyes, and found that she was watching him keenly again, as she had been doing so often lately. She tilted her head, eyes searching his, and he wondered what she was thinking.

The silence stretched on a little too long for Clint's liking. Natasha had told him to stop apologizing, but that left little for him to talk about. His partner seemed too busy studying him to start a conversation, which left him to think of something to say.

He cleared his throat. "So. Uh…"

"Dammit," Nat said under her breath.

Clint froze. _Oh, no. She's mad._

Natasha stepped forward, grabbed his lapels, and kissed him.

A wave of shock rolled through Clint's body, and he went completely numb. He felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach, and all the air had been knocked from his body. His knees felt weak as he stumbled backward and hit the wall.

Natasha went with him, her mouth still on his, and her palms flattened on his chest. She was pressing him into the wall, kissing him with raw honesty, and he couldn't breathe. He could barely get his mind around what was happening.

She drew away slowly, cheeks flushed and lids lowered, and Clint gasped for air. He tried to think of something to say, but his mind was a tangled mess and he could barely stand.

Natasha looked at him, biting her lips, her bright eyes exploring his hopefully. Clint didn't know what to do. He just stared at her.

Then she frowned.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I shouldn't have—I'm sorry."

She turned away, and was gone.

Clint sagged against the wall, breathing hard. He was still aching from her kisses and he could barely think, so he just stood there for a minute, trying to catch his breath.

Gradually he returned to his senses, and he was able to think more clearly.

 _She kissed me._

He had to think this through, had to figure out what it meant, but he couldn't. All he could think about right now was the simple, astonishing, incredible truth that _she had kissed him._

He didn't know why, he didn't know what she felt towards him, he didn't know what to do next. All he knew was that she had kissed him. And it had felt amazing.

 _I have to find her._

Once he had reached this decision, he forced his legs into submission and staggered to the door. He flung it open and started running down the hallway and into the central room.

"Natasha? Natasha!" He was hurrying through the crowd, head circling in every direction, eyes straining for a glimpse of her. "Nat!"

Someone bumped into him from behind. Clint turned – it was Pepper.

"Clint! I saw the dress," she told him. "You're right, it looks awful! I—"

Clint grabbed her by the arms. "You saw her? You saw Natasha?" he demanded.

Pepper nodded. "Yeah, she was wearing that—"

"Where? Where is she?" Clint interrupted.

Pepper looked confused. "She just came through here. She was heading out." Pepper pointed at the exit.

Clint stared at the door. "You mean she left?"

"Yeah, probably because her dress—"

Clint didn't wait to hear the rest. He ran towards the exit.

* * *

 **Ok but real talk. I've been getting a lot of requests to write certain scenes from Nat's pov. If some of you guys just want to see how the main story ends, and you're not really interested in 'bonus material' so to speak, then you don't have to stay for this. But like I said, I'm really attached to this story, so I think I'm gonna do it.**

 **So the ones I'm writing from Nat's pov are Steps 3, 5, 6, 15, and 19. If there are any others you'd like to see, let me know. :)**

 **Talia out!**


	24. Step 21 - Part C

**Ravenpuff Nerd - Haha tbh the kiss was the highlight of my day too xD And yeah I'll totally do Ch. 23, that sounds awesome! AWW NO DAWL YOURE THE BEST OMG**

 **Liv - Yesss good idea! Adding Step 18 to the list. xD Also random weird question - I've just realized you remind me of someone. I'm probably wrong but idk because you're reviewing as a guest... do you have a ffnet account? :P**

 **Buu22 - Aw thanks!,! And yeah Steps 2 and 10 might be a little tough, but I will definitely consider it. :D (ALSO I just have to say, your review on Ch 21 is like my favorite thing rn because it perfectly describes my feelings on Family!Barton. I read it to my sister and we were like crying laughing xD)**

 **Mockingjay500 - OMG you are so right. It felt like the only reason they even bothered with her backstory was to help the romance plotline - like it wasn't even about her anymore, just her 'compatibility' with Bruce. :/ And AH that Clintasha version of Aou sounds awesome, I'm going to tell my friends about that just to hear them shriek. As for Step 13, that one sounds a little hard, but I'll totally think about it bc I really like that one too. x) And yay! I'm so glad you liked the chapterrr! x)**

 **Okey doke. Let's wrap this thing up...**

* * *

Clint was speeding down the road towards Natasha's apartment. It was drawing steadily closer to eleven, and the streets were crowded with headlights. Clint's mind was still on overdrive, and he was having trouble keeping his attention on the road.

He had to talk to her. He had battled with the urge to just call her or text her and have done with it, but what would he say? 'thx for kissing me im in luv w/ u'? No, whatever he said to her about this, it had to be in person.

Especially because Clint had been examining the facts as he drove, and there was only one conclusion he could come to as to why she had kissed him.

She was in love with him.

It sounded insane, but it was the only possibility. Because first of all, he knew Natasha wouldn't kiss him like that if she didn't mean it. She knew she was desirable; her appeal was a powerful tool on many a field mission. And he knew she wouldn't play around with this tool, especially not on her best friend.

And then there was the way she had gone about kissing him. It had clearly been premeditated on her part – it wasn't like they had been standing close to each other, gazing into each other's eyes, and she had simply given into the heat of the moment. No, she had just walked right over and kissed him frankly, without ceremony. It wasn't the way you kissed someone who you were only physically attracted to.

She had to be in love with him.

Clint was frustrated with himself, though, when he looked back on his reaction. Or lack thereof. The kiss had just been so unexpected – and not just the timing, either. Just the fact that she had kissed him at _all._ Of course, it had crossed his mind before that she _might_ be interested in him, but he hadn't thought about it seriously.

And if she had kissed him during one of those moments where they _were_ standing close together, where they _were_ gazing into each other's eyes, then he still would've been surprised, but at least he would've seen it coming. As it was, he hadn't expected her to kiss him then, or ever.

So his reaction had been basically pure shock.

And now, based on her apologies before she'd left, she probably thought he didn't feel the same way she did. If he had to guess, she was probably lying on her bed, trying to come up with a good excuse for why she had kissed him so she could lie about her feelings. She would say she'd been drunk at the time. That she'd kissed him on a dare. That it had been a 'platonic kiss'. Anything to avoid admitting that she loved him.

Because if love might ruin their partnership, then unrequited love definitely would.

But Clint wasn't going to listen to any of it. He had looked at all the variables, he knew how she must feel, so when she started telling him whatever excuse she had invented, he would stop her. He would tell her how he felt, and he would make his case to her.

So much for not risking their friendship. So much for having enough already. So much for getting over her.

Because yes, Natasha was the best thing in his life, but what if she could be even better? She was his best friend, but what if she could be something more?

Clint reached the apartment right around eleven. It was a mere three minutes up a few flights of stairs before he was standing outside Natasha's door. The lights were on inside, and it was silent.

Clint readied himself, then knocked.

Several moments passed with no answer.

Clint knocked again. "Nat?"

Still no reply.

Clint tried the doorknob. It was unlocked.

Cautiously, Clint eased the door open, and stuck his head through. He could see the kitchen beyond – empty.

"Nat…?"

Clint stepped into the apartment. He walked slowly past the kitchen, and on into the living room. Empty. He circled around and entered her bedroom.

Natasha wasn't in the bedroom, but something else was: a familiar wine-stained dress, pooling on the floor. So she had been here, and changed. And then headed where?

Clint considered this for a moment.

Maybe she'd gone to his house?

She knew he wasn't there, but maybe she was waiting for him to come back so she could explain things to him.

It was worth a try.

Clint headed back toward his car.

…

The lights were off in his apartment. Clint stepped in and started to switch on the light, but then he looked at Strela, asleep in her little cat bed, and he hesitated. He didn't know if the light would bother her, but he didn't want to find out. Instead, he turned on a lamp.

"Natasha…?"

He checked the living room and the bedroom with no luck. Where _was_ she?

Clint found his jeans and T-shirt on the floor, and suddenly he realized how uncomfortable he was in his stiff tuxedo. He started stripping it off, still trying to figure out where Natasha might be.

He had just pulled on his jeans when it hit him.

If Natasha had feelings for him, and thought he didn't feel the same way, she was probably really upset.

And what did Natasha do when she was really upset…?

 _Oh, crap._

She was at the bar.

Clint ran out of his bedroom and back into the kitchen, yanking his shirt on as he went. He was halfway to the door, when it opened.

Clint froze, his heart thudding.

Natasha was standing in the doorway.

Her hair and makeup were still immaculate, contrasting with the worn jeans and faded tank top she now wore in place of the dress. And her expression was so determined, but so sad at the same time, that it made his heart clench with pain.

Natasha stepped into his house and shut the door.

"Barton," she began, as he started towards her. "Before you say anything, I—"

That was all she got out before he caught her face in his hands and covered her mouth with his.

He hadn't planned on kissing her. But when he'd seen her, seen how disappointed she looked, it had reminded him that she thought her feelings for him were one-sided. And he didn't want her to think that.

But then she stiffened beneath him, and she pushed him away, staring up at him in dismay.

"Clint!"

Clint cringed away. _Oh, god – I shouldn't have done that. I was wrong. She's not in love with me, she is_ so _not in love with me…_

Natasha sighed and ducked around him.

Clint turned and watched as she leaned her palms onto his kitchen table, head down.

"What?" he said weakly.

Natasha whirled to face him, eyes flashing. "Okay, so maybe I shouldn't have kissed you. Maybe it was stupid, thoughtless, and irresponsible." She took a step towards him. "But at least the reason I kissed you was because I love you!"

Clint blinked.

 _Wait, what? She_ is _in love with me? Well then why…?Wha…?_

"I'm confused," Clint said blankly.

Natasha crossed her arms and leaned back against the table, glaring at the floor. "Look. You're my best friend. I know you must feel sorry for me since I have feelings for someone who doesn't return them. And you probably feel guilty for barely reacting when I kissed you. And maybe you, I don't know, enjoyed kissing me the first time or something. But none of those are good enough reasons to kiss me just now, especially since you know how I feel about you!"

Slowly it began to make sense. Because of his shocked reaction when she'd kissed him at the party, she had probably convinced herself that he wasn't interested in her. Then, when he'd kissed her a minute ago, she must have thought that it couldn't be out of love; it must be something else – pity, guilt, or lust.

"Nat." Clint breathed out a laugh of relief, starting towards her. "That wasn't—"

"I'm not joking!" Natasha snapped.

Clint stopped.

(Apparently it had been the wrong time to laugh.)

He had never seen Natasha this irrational – she knew him well, she should know that he would never screw around with her feelings like that. Besides, the fact that he was in love with her was glaringly obvious, and Natasha was always so perceptive and good at reading people.

But then his mind passed over the events of the last few weeks, and he realized _he_ hadn't exactly been acute about _her_ feelings, either. He should have been tipped off by those comments she'd made when she was drunk. By how patient she'd been with him lately, even when he screwed up. By every time she'd blushed, or gotten flustered while she was talking to him, and by the way she was always watching him so closely, searching him for an emotion she'd hoped was there.

And then he realized that love clouded your perception, and made your reasoning weak.

Especially when it came to the person you loved.

"Maybe kissing you was stupid, but at least I meant it," Natasha seethed. "Don't kiss me unless you mean it, Barton."

Clint looked at her thoughtfully for a minute with his hands in his pockets. Then he stepped forward and brushed his lips across hers.

Natasha turned her head away. "I told you to stop doing that."

Clint took her chin in one hand and placed a kiss on her temple.

Natasha closed her eyes and braced her palm against his chest. _"Stop it."_

 _Come on, Tasha, take the hint._

But when he pressed his mouth to the side of her jaw, she inhaled sharply and shoved him away.

"Did you even hear me, Barton?" she growled, glaring at him. "I don't want you doing that unless you love me!"

Clint raised an eyebrow at her, smiling in disbelief. "Nat. What do you think I'm trying to tell you?"

Natasha froze.

Her eyes were searching his, brow furrowed. He could see doubt in her expression, but also hope.

"And what I've been trying to tell you for the past three weeks, in fact," Clint went on. "All this stupid stuff I've been doing – calling you for no reason, kicking you under the table, going out of my way to see you, lending you books, _trying_ to compliment you, buying you freaking _cats—_ What did you think all that was for? Did you think I was just bored?" He laughed dryly, as she continued to stare at him.

Clint rested his hands on the table on either side of her. "Nat, I'm crazy about you," he said quietly. "I know when you kissed me back at that party I didn't really say anything – or do anything – but that's because I was just really, really surprised. Believe me, I was over the moon. God, I've been wanting to kiss you for ages! I would've told you how I felt a long time ago, but I didn't know how, and it would've been a heck of a lot easier if I didn't love you so goddamn much!"

Natasha was staring forcefully at him, as if he would change his mind when she looked away. She grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt and yanked him closer.

"Swear you're not lying to me," she whispered fiercely. "Just tell me this isn't some sort of an elaborate prank that you and Stark are playing on me."

Clint chuckled softly at her distrust and moved in, trapping her hips between himself and the table. "Natasha."

He heard her breathing quicken as her bright eyes studied his face, looking for any sign that he didn't mean what he was saying. She swallowed.

"Okay," she said quietly. "I… guess it's okay if you kiss me, then."

Clint didn't wait for a second invitation.

This time, neither of them held back – they had both waited too long. Clint poured every bit of his passion into the kiss, yet his intensity was still rivalled by his partner's.

She devoured his kisses with a hunger that made his head swim. Like she was starved for affection, and he was the only thing that could satisfy her. She kissed him like he would disappear if she stopped, like she physically couldn't get enough of him. And he felt the same.

He kissed her desperately, frantically, like his kisses were the only thing keeping her alive. Like the world was ending tomorrow, and this was his last chance to show her how much she meant to him. She was addicting, and with every movement of her mouth across his, every breath he felt on his lips, he slowly grew more and more intoxicated until he didn't know his own name.

They were both breathless when they finally broke apart. Clint took Natasha by the hips and set her on the table, and she rested her forehead against his. Their ragged breaths mingled in the air between them. Clint rested one hand on the side of Natasha's face, and he felt her smile.

Neither of them spoke for a minute, just savored the moment, caught their breath. Then Natasha raised her head and looked at him, and he had never seen her smile so big.

He found himself smiling, too, as he examined her face, brushing her cheek with his thumb.

Natasha turned her head and pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist. "Clint."

Clint watched as she drew his hand away from her face (the same hand, he realized abstractedly, that she had both bitten and stuck with a tack) and proceeded to leave slow kisses on his fingertips, his knuckles, his palm, the spaces between his fingers. Like the time in her bedroom at Stark, except so much better, because this time she knew what she was doing.

"Mmhmm," he answered vaguely.

Natasha halted her ministrations and smirked at him.

"You were in love with me for three weeks and you didn't tell me?"

Clint laughed sheepishly. Natasha rolled her eyes and kissed the center of his palm.

"Well, what's _your_ excuse?" he teased back.

Natasha paused again and tipped her head reflectively on its side.

"I was trying to keep the rumor mill at bay," she quipped, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh, right, the rumor mill." Clint smiled slightly at the memory as she turned his hand over, examining a scar on his thumb.

After a moment she said, "I hear the rumor mill has been running a little slow lately."

Clint looked at her. She lifted her head and grinned impishly at him.

"Think we should give them some new material?" Clint said mischievously.

Natasha's brow creased, and she pursed her lips in mock contemplation.

"It's a sacrifice. But I try to do what I can for society," she said finally.

Clint chuckled and gathered her in his arms.

* * *

 **Yayyy!**

 **Ok, so the epilogue, for those of you who are interested. I'm not 100% sure I'll be able to post it over the weekend, because I have rehearsals. :/ (At least you can be glad rehearsals didn't start today - then you would have had to wait on this last part here! x) I'll get it out as soon as I can though, and then I'll start the Nat pov chapters.**

 **So, for the Nat pov Steps, I now have 3, 5, 6, 15, 18, 19, and 21b, and I'm considering 2, 10, and 13. If there are any others that anyone wants to see, feel free to tell me! :)**

 **GOING TO SEE CACW TONIGHT! PREPARE TO HAVE NON-SPOILERY THOUGHTS SCREAMED AT YOU**


	25. -EPILOGUE-

**Yay! I'm so glad you guys are happy with how the story turned out! Here's a little wrap-up for you all!**

 **For those of you who asked, the rehearsals I'm doing are for dance. x) Recital is this month.**

 **(Quick thoughts about Civil War - it was awesome - just don't go in expecting Clintasha moments, even platonic ones. You will be disappointed. Dx)**

* * *

Clint's bedroom had been a quiet place in the past.

All he ever did there was sleep, and lay on the bed, and take naps, and doze, and rest his eyes. And he definitely never, _ever_ danced to 'Hollaback Girl' there. _Never_.

He did that in the kitchen.

For the past several days, though, the silence that had reigned unchecked in his bedroom for so long had finally been broken. In the morning, there were promises whispered across the pillows, soft kisses stolen before breakfast, murmured conversations between the sheets. In the evening, there were shared secrets, carefree laughter, playful jokes. And at night, the noise level in the room reached a crescendo as passionate kisses and breathless words developed into flaming love.

And then Clint's bedroom would be quiet for hours – just entwined bodies, peaceful smiles, and the sound of steady breathing.

It was afternoon now, and Clint's bedroom was quiet again. The door was closed, and a little black kitten was asleep in a patch of sunlight by the window.

Then a voice was heard from the kitchen.

"Clint, you don't need to carry me everywhere we go."

The kitten's ear twitched.

A second voice. "But you're so little and fun to carry!"

"Call me, 'little' again, I dare you."

The kitten's eyes opened. She yawned and started stretching.

"Eh, whatever. It's still fun."

The kitten stood and padded softly towards the door.

" 'Fun' is not the word that comes to mind."

"Hm. Is it more fun for you if I run?"

Pounding footsteps. High-pitched laughter.

 _"Clint!"_

The door flew open. Clint started to charge through, but Natasha grabbed the doorframe.

"Don't step on the cat don't step on the cat!"

Clint halted, as Strela skittered between his legs and ran into the kitchen. Natasha let go of the doorframe, and Clint ran into the room. He stopped by the bed and threw a laughing Natasha into the air. She landed on the bed.

Clint flopped down on the bed next to her, grinning as he waited for her laughter to die down. Finally she caught her breath and sat up, adjusting her hair.

"So, wait – what did you want to show me?"

"Oh, right!" Clint reached down and grabbed his laptop from beside his bed. He pulled up a certain Google article.

"Okay," he began. "So… back when I first realized how I felt about you—"

"Back in _August,"_ Natasha added, rolling her eyes playfully.

"Right, August," Clint said with a sheepish smile. "I didn't know how to tell you, so I looked up ways to hint that you like someone. I found this, and every day, I did something on the list to see if you would take the hint. Here, read it." He handed her the laptop, then scooted over so he was sitting cross-legged right in front of her. He pulled her legs loosely onto either side of his hips.

"Wait." She pointed at the screen. " 'Dress up a little when you know you're going to see them'… Was that…?"

"Oh, that undercover op," Clint said, grinning at the memory. "Remember, where we had to weed for hours?"

Natasha started smiling, and looked up at him. _"Ohhh._ Is _that_ why you were dressed like—"

"Like I wanted to be sponsored by Ralph Lauren?" Clint supplied ruefully. "Yeah, that would be why."

Natasha chuckled. "I did wonder why you wore designer jeans to kneel in the mud."

Clint gave an exaggerated sigh. "Ah, yes… my designer jeans. May they rest in peace."

Natasha shrugged. "You did look good, though."

Clint raised his eyebrows. "Really? So it worked?" he teased, grinning at her.

Natasha smiled and ducked her head. "Sure. It worked," she said coyly.

When she glanced back at the screen, she frowned. "Wait. 'Have a friend ask about you'?"

"Oh." Clint gave an embarrassed laugh. "Yeah. Remember that time when Tony told you I was attacked?"

Natasha's eyes grew wide. "You said you had nothing to do with that!"

"I think my exact words were, 'I don't know what Stark told you'. Which was true, by the way," Clint said. "I just told him to talk me up, he made up the whole HYDRA thing."

Natasha squinted at him. "Guess I'll let you off the hook, then" was her comment. "But, seriously. How did Stark get 'Scare the crap out of them' from 'Ask about them'?"

"Search me," Clint replied. He could tell his partner was slightly perturbed by the memory, so he rested his hands reassuringly on her shins as she kept reading.

After a moment, she smiled. " 'Go out of your way to see them'… Was that the whole park situation?"

"Uh…" Clint joined in with her laughter. "Maybe."

For a few minutes, she read quietly down the list, chuckling now and then as one of the Steps prompted memories that were finally starting to make sense.

"Oh, right, the nickname," she said, looking up. "You called me 'Firefly'. Why did you stop doing that?"

"Oh." Clint thought about it, a little surprised. "I… don't know. I guess I got distracted by all the other steps and I just forgot."

Natasha tilted her head. "I liked that. You should do it again."

Clint grinned. "Okay, Firefly."

Several more minutes passed in warm silence. Clint kept his hands resting gently on her legs, smiling slightly as he watched her. Now and then a little smirk would cross her face, and he would feel something uncurl in his chest, a tangible reminder of how much he loved her.

At last she looked up at him, grinning. "Wow."

Clint shrugged. "So, yeah. I'm an idiot."

Natasha looked at the screen again. "You did all this for me?"

"Of course I did, Firefly. You're my most special person."

Natasha chuckled through her nose and shook her head, scrolling back through the List.

Clint reached out and, gently but firmly, took the laptop away. Natasha looked up in confusion as he set it aside.

"What?"

"What?" Clint said playfully, shifting onto his knees. He placed his hands on either side of her hips and captured her mouth lazily with his. Natasha's hand found the back of his neck, then he slowly pulled back.

Natasha tipped her head on its side. "What?" she said again, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Clint reached up and lightly brushed her hair back. Then he leaned up, situating his mouth next to her ear, and murmured, "Are you bored, Firefly?"

Natasha smirked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Maybe. Why?"

"Mmm." Clint leaned in again, nuzzling her ear. "I have something… fun, for us to do in here."

Natasha closed her eyes. "What's that," she asked drowsily.

Clint smiled.

"I got the next Harry Potter book ready, if you finished the first one."

Clint was still laughing when he hit the floor.

* * *

 **Buu22 - I'm probably not going to do Steps 2 and 10. x( I feel bad, but like you said, Nat's feelings for Clint weren't as well developed yet in Step 2 (however, I did reference that step in this epilogue just for you!), and in Step 10, I feel like she was still at the point where she could push out her emotion pretty easily and focus on sparring. So it probably wouldn't be very interesting. :(**

 **However, I am doing Step 13, as per Mockingjay500's request, and Princess2016 has asked for 21c. So now the list for the Nat pov Steps is 3, 5, 6, 13, 15, 18, 19, 21b, and 21c. So unless someone has a last-minute request, I think that should be good!**

 **One more thing - Finals are in like 3 weeks, and I haven't done a lick of studying. So, in the interest of passing my 2nd year of hs, I'm thinking about waiting on the Nat pov chapters until after exams. I may work on them a little, but the chances are that I won't be back till early June. :( I hate to do it, but my education is kindof important, so...**

 **Anyways! I'll 'see' you all probably next month! Have a lovely May! :)**


	26. Nat POV1: Step 3

**Goodbye exams, hello fanfiction!**

 **It's so good to be back - granted, it's only been a few weeks, but I've been busy, so it feels like longer. Not sure if I'll be able to post over the weekend, as that's when my dance performances are, but I really wanted to get a chapter out today, because it's my dawl Ravenpuff Nerd's birthday! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!**

 **So glad you all liked the epilogue - hope you like this one too! It's freaking long oops x)**

* * *

It was shaping up to be a pretty normal Tuesday for Natasha Romanoff.

She'd gotten up at seven, eaten breakfast, showered, headed down to HQ, worked out for an hour, sat through a useless SHIELD Young Recruits Agency meeting (mental note: tell Miller to stop calling the nineteen-year-olds 'kiddos'), taken a lunch break, sat through a few more faculty meetings (to discuss the HYDRA uprisings _again),_ had a quick chat with Hill, and headed out. All in all, not a terrible day.

Now she and George Mayer were walking down the hall together – she was heading for the parking lot, and he had a meeting in Conference Room 7, so their paths corresponded.

"I swear, all Fury talks about these days is those HYDRA uprisings," Mayer was commenting. He lowered his voice in a rough imitation of Fury's tone. "'They just targeted a senior agent, Mayer – they're trying to get clearance cards… now a junior agent, Mayer – they just want attention… they attacked the SHIELD janitor – they must be after SHIELD-issued mops.' Like, c'mon, man. HYDRA ain't that bright. They're probably just doing it for the Vine." He looked at her suddenly. "Has that occurred to you, by the way? Maybe they're just doing it for giggles."

Natasha shook her head as they turned a corner. "I don't know – I mean, they've got to have _some_ agenda, right? The attacks are so random, and in my experience, if attacks are random, it's not an accident. It's a cover-up. There's something they want from us."

Mayer nodded thoughtfully.

Natasha raised her eyebrows wryly. "Maybe it _is_ the mops."

Mayer laughed. "Well, we do have some pretty sick mops in the supply closet." He slowed his steps as they neared a cross-corridor. "Welp, this is my exit. I'll see you round." He turned and headed down the hall to the left.

Natasha reflected on the HYDRA situation as she headed for the sunlit glass doors of the back exit. Most of the SHIELD agents who had been attacked were pretty recognizable ones, agents who had been in the public eye. It occurred to her then that _she_ was a pretty well-known agent – she had, after all, crashed the council a couple years ago after DC. She tensed a little at the thought – she should really watch her step.

She was nearing the glass doors now, and bright afternoon sunlight was spilling through into the hall. Natasha quickened her steps as she drew closer – finally, she could go home.

"Wait! Romanoff!"

Natasha paused with one hand on the handle and growled. She glanced longingly out at the parking lot (so close, yet so far away), then turned to see who had addressed her.

Tony Stark was at the end of the hall, barreling towards her with an expression of panic on his face. Natasha frowned, immediately on the alert. Tony Stark rarely ran, unless his life was on the line. Or if he smelled donuts.

"Stark?" she said warily.

Tony skidded to a stop in front of her and raised a finger, catching his breath. "I… I just…"

"Why were you running?" Natasha asked briskly.

Tony straightened up, panting. He glanced over his shoulder down the hall. "I… I, uh…" he said breathlessly. He looked quickly at her. "HYDRA."

Natasha's pulse quickened. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah, HYDRA," Tony repeated. "They were after me—"

Natasha stared at him in bewilderment. "What? HYDRA was after you? Where? Why?"

"Barton," Tony blurted out.

Natasha froze. "Huh?"

"Yeah, I was with Barton," Tony said, still panting a little. "We were just hanging out, and then HYDRA broke into his place. He was really getting beat up, you should be worried about him," he added.

Natasha stared at him in disbelief, fear growing in her stomach. _Oh god no…_

She grabbed the front of Tony's shirt, and he made a noise of panic in his throat as she yanked him down to her level.

"Where is he? Where's Barton?" she demanded, as Tony stared wide-eyed at her. "Is he here? Did you take him to medical? Is he okay?"

"Is he – no, he's still there," Tony stammered, trying to back out of her grasp.

Natasha's fingers tightened on his shirt, her heartrate skyrocketing. _"What?_ You mean you _left_ him!"

"Well there was no time," Tony defended himself. "I had to come get help – they were everywhere – swarming through the door, the windows – they had machetes!"

Terror and fury were rapidly climbing inside her. She shoved Tony away and punched him in the diaphragm. Tony grunted and doubled over.

 _"_ _Chertov ublyudok!"_ she exploded. _"Ya ne mogu poverit, chto ty ostavil svoy grebanny tovarishcha po komande, chtoby postoyat za sebya! Vy chertovsky trus!"_

Tony winced. "What – I—"

Natasha didn't wait to hear his reply. She turned and ran for the parking lot.

Her car was parked near the entrance. Within seconds, she was behind the wheel and careening out onto the road.

 _How long have they been there?_ She hadn't had time to ask Tony for more information. Machetes, he'd said. One Clint Barton versus x-number of HYDRA agents with machetes… it didn't sound good. An image flashed through her mind – Clint lying on the floor, covered in blood, maybe lacking a limb or two… Natasha gritted her teeth and squeezed the wheel desperately, pressing harder on the gas.

 _Of course they would target him – he's one of the most skilled SHIELD agents out there,_ she thought grimly. _And here was I, worrying about myself… oh god…_

Clint hadn't been to HQ for a week or so. He might not even know about the HYDRA uprisings.

 _This is my fault. I could've warned him, I'm his partner, I'm supposed to always have his back, I failed…_

She glanced at the clock and groaned. It was 16:05. She wouldn't be at Clint's house for ten more minutes.

 _By that time he might be…_

Natasha took a deep breath and forced the thought away.

 _I'll make it in time._

The rest of the drive was rushed and tense, and Natasha tried not to think too hard about anything except getting to Clint's house. Images kept flashing through her mind, missions where Clint had gotten badly hurt. Singapore. Budapest. Lima. She could see his face, pale and drawn, and his eyes, blank and unfocused. She heard his sharp cry of pain when she'd set his femur in Salvador. She saw the long knife wounds in his back from his ordeal in Manila. She could feel his blood, slick on her hands when she'd tried to comfort him in Amsterdam.

Natasha clenched her teeth, willing the memories to fade. _Please be okay, please be okay…_

She reached his apartment at a quarter after four. She jumped out of her car and took off running into the building. It occurred to her as she raced up the stairwell that she had left her car door open, but she didn't care.

She ran down the hallway towards his flat, realizing belatedly that she didn't have a gun on her (since when did that ever happen?) It didn't matter – she'd tear the bastards apart with her bare hands if she had to.

She threw Clint's door open, ready to fight.

His house was empty.

Well, not _empty,_ exactly. All of Clint's belongings were in their usual places, and Clint himself was standing on the far side of the room. But the room was completely empty of all HYDRA agents, machetes, and blood.

For a second, all she felt was intense confusion.

Clint extended his hands toward her. "Whoa, Nat. What's going on?"

Natasha just stared at him for a minute. Then relief washed through her like a tidal wave. He was okay, he was alive, he was all in one piece.

Well, one thing was for sure – Stark had lied to her.

Then a thought crossed her mind – Clint had probably been in on it.

She was going to kill them.

"Damn you," she growled, starting forward.

Clint's eyes grew big, and he stumbled back against the wall. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on just a second," he said as she neared him. "I'm sure this is all just some misunderstan—"

Natasha threw her arms around him.

Clint sucked in his breath and went rigid. She could tell he was surprised, and she was too – she had been planning on throwing a few punches, venting her anger, but once she had gotten close to him, she had just realized how relieved she was that he was still alive.

He was warm and firm, and he smelled so _Clint._ She buried her nose in his chest, trying to calm her pounding heart. He was okay, he was fine, he was right here, he hadn't been stabbed or cut up in a million pieces. She felt her knees go weak under her, and she twisted her fingers into the material at the back of his shirt, pressing herself against him in order to stay upright. She didn't want him to know just how much this had fazed her.

That was when it registered that he wasn't hugging her back.

He was holding himself very stiffly, and she realized he must feel awkward – probably because she had hugged him approximately zero times in her life. She should stop now, before things got even more awkward.

She took a minute to ensure that her legs were working properly, then she drew away. He was watching her apprehensively, and for a moment, she considered letting him off the hook.

But then she remembered that he had been in cahoots with Stark, that he had helped set up this whole charade. And her face twisted into a scowl.

"What the hell were you thinking!" she demanded, shoving him up against the wall. "What, was that supposed to be _funny?_ Was it some kind of, _joke?"_ She glowered at him, breathing hard as she tried to slow her heartrate.

Clint blinked. "Huh?"

"You and Stark were in it together, weren't you!" Natasha growled. "You set me up for a sick, twisted prank! Well, guess what, Barton!" She poked him in the chest, hard. _"It wasn't. Funny."_

Clint's Adam's apple bobbed.

"Nat," he said quietly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Natasha tossed her head angrily.

"The hell you don't!" she snarled. "I actually _believed_ him, you know! So go ahead and gloat, because guess what! You got me! You succeeded with your stupid, immature, thoughtless, juvenile, insensitive, frankly _rude,_ careless—"

"Nat," Clint cut in, looking seriously down at her. "Believe me. I don't know what Stark told you. He was probably just messing with you."

Natasha stopped. She wasn't positive, but… it _sounded_ like he was telling the truth. She squinted, searching his face, and he continued to look calmly down at her without speaking.

Natasha furrowed her brow. "You… really don't know…?" she asked doubtfully

Clint gave his head a firm shake. "I really don't," he said simply. He tilted his head at her. "Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

Natasha paused, absorbing the fact that he was telling the truth. She exhaled slowly, then drew back, her hands dropping off his chest. She moved to his couch and sat down, tucking her legs up under her.

It passed through her mind again, an image of those bloody knife wounds from the Philippines. Now that her rage had subsided, she was left thinking again about what would have happened if HYDRA really had been there, and a surge of emotion swelled up in her chest. She dropped her face into her hands, trying to compose herself. She could feel Clint watching her closely, but he didn't speak.

 _He's fine. He's completely fine, and I am NOT going to start crying._

She heard Clint move towards her, then the couch dipped as he sat down. She could still feel his penetrating gaze on her, and she twisted her head slightly away, taking slow, steadying breaths. It came back to her: a memory of her blind panic on the drive out, when she'd thought he was dead… A tremor passed through her, and she felt Clint shift uncomfortably on the couch.

Suddenly Natasha felt very small. She had barged into Clint's house, accusing him of something he was innocent of, and now she was sitting here on his couch, getting all emotional and mawkish. _I'm the Black freaking Widow, dammit! I'm better than this._

So she forced all traces of emotion away, and she lifted her head out of her hands, glowering darkly at the wall. _Just start from the beginning._

"Have you heard of the HYDRA uprisings that have been going on lately?" she asked tightly.

There was a short pause.

"Uh…" Clint cleared his throat, shifting his posture again. "Yes… maybe? I don't know," he confessed. "Why?"

Natasha exhaled again, finally feeling her heartrate return to normal. "We've been getting reports lately of growing attacks on SHIELD agents," she stated. This was better – she sounded much more steady now. "It's all Fury talks about," she went on easily. "HYDRA's behind it, so he keeps talking about sending us on an undercover op to figure out what their game is."

Another brief pause.

"Um… okay?" Clint said dubiously. He sounded puzzled – probably he was wondering what HYDRA had to do with her distress.

Natasha pulled her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. _Just stay calm._ "Today…" she began slowly. "I was getting ready to leave work when Stark came running up to me and told me that you'd been attacked."

"Oh, god." Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha saw Clint bury his face in his hands. She still couldn't bring herself to look at him.

Natasha continued her story, explaining what had happened, making sure to keep her voice calm and clinical the whole time. Clint remained quiet, listening, but she could tell he was troubled, from the way he kept running his hand through his hair.

Natasha drew to the end of her tale, explaining briefly how anxious she had been on the way over.

"So when I got here, and saw you were okay," she finished, "I just—" She bit off the two words 'hugged you' (he didn't need to be reminded of that little awkward moment), and turned to him, finally meeting his eyes. "Why the hell would Stark tell me that?" she demanded. Clint met her gaze, and she could see unhappiness in his expression. "I'm going to kill him," she growled. "I'm going to kill that man."

Clint sighed heavily, his eyes searching hers. "Not if I kill him first." His words ended in a grunt as he hoisted himself off the couch and crossed the room. He swiped his phone from a side table and dialed, lifting the device to his ear.

Natasha leaned her head back onto the couch and closed her eyes. The last vestiges of fear finally faded from her insides, and she took a long, relaxed breath.

"You told Natasha I was attacked by HYDRA!" Clint exclaimed from across the room.

Natasha opened her eyes, thankful that Tony was getting a scolding from someone. She watched Clint as he began pacing back and forth across the living room, clearly agitated.

"Why the hell would you do that!" he exploded, his face contorting with rage. "You seriously freaked her out!" He dragged his fingers through his hair. "You better have an _insanely_ good explanation for this, Tin Man!"

It briefly crossed Natasha's mind to be grateful in some small way for how much it upset Clint when she got scared. At least that meant she didn't get this scared very often, and that he cared about her.

Although, come to think of it… why _had_ she gotten this scared? She frowned, suddenly realizing how strange it was. It wasn't as though Clint had never been in danger before – in fact, he got himself into trouble quite regularly, but she never really got _this_ disturbed. She was about to explore the question further, but then she realized that Clint had hung up, and was asking if she was okay, concern written on his face.

She took a deep breath, reasserting to herself that she was. "Yeah… I'm fine." Slowly, she unfolded her legs and stood up, relieved to find that she was stable on her feet. Clint was standing a few feet in front of her, examining her closely.

She folded her arms across her chest. "I'm gonna go home now," she stated.

Clint nodded. "Okay," he said softly. "Sorry about all this," he added.

She knew he must still be worried about her because of how distraught she'd been, and she shrugged, dropping her eyes. "It's okay," she said quietly. A second passed in silence, and she added, "Tony's a jerk."

"Yeah, he can be," Clint said thoughtfully.

Natasha nodded and started for the door.

In the doorway she paused. She felt oddly hesitant to leave him, as if the second she went home, HYDRA really _would_ attack.

 _He's fine. He can take care of himself._

Just the same, she glanced over her shoulder and said, "Watch your back, Barton."

Then she left.

On her way back out to the car, Natasha reflected on what she'd been thinking in Barton's house. Why had she been so worried about him? She should know by now that, as good as he was at getting into trouble, he was almost equally good at getting back out of it.

 _It's because he's my best friend,_ she told herself. _It just seemed so real this time, because everyone's been talking about the HYDRA attacks. That's all it was._

But somehow, that didn't seem to be quite right.

* * *

 **I've noticed I have readers from all over, so in this chapter I've referenced some of the countries where I've gotten the most views from. :) Thanks guys!**

 **Ok so the other Nat pov chapters. I got more requests, so now I have** **5, 6, 13, 15, 16, 18, 19, 21a, 21b, and 21c - and I'm considering 7 and 17. Whew! It'll be a while before I finish this story! Not that I'm complaining - I absolutely love writing it!,!**

 **Oh, also, Ravenpuff Nerd - In your review you said "Step 12, after Natasha gets drunk and she's trying to make up excuses (etc.)", but Step 12 is the chapter right _before_ the one where she's making excuses. So did you mean Ch 12 Step 12, or Ch 13: break - where she's making excuses? Just checking! x)**


	27. Nat POV2: Step 5

**Ilessthan3KH - OMW tysm!,! That is so nice i can't I just, thank you. Glad you're enjoying it! :D**

 **K so I feel like this may be a little rough at some parts, but I've certainly done worse. :) The diction/articulation of lines may be different than the Clint pov chapters in some areas, but the dialogue is the same. (You may also notice that Clint seems less awkward from Nat's pov, and she herself seems more awkward. It's all in how you look at it. :)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Natasha slipped a full magazine into the side of her bodice. She hit the magazine release on her pistol, and slid the piece of metal out, double-checking to make sure that all ten bullets were intact.

"Remember," she said to Clint. "I've never seen Weber before. We'll have to go in separately – you go in first and scout around to see if he's there. Once you locate him, you'll have to give me some kind of signal since we don't have comms. Then I'll do my thing." _I.E., seduce him._

Natasha tossed her hair back, feeding a few more bullets into her magazine to complete the round. "Also, Fury said that even if our mark doesn't turn up, we need to hang around for a while, in case they have an undercover man there. Which would suck, by the way, because I always get bored at parties."

Clint didn't respond.

 _Bad time to make a joke?_

Natasha clicked the full magazine back into her pistol. "So if he doesn't show, how long do you think we should stick around?"

Clint still didn't answer.

"Barton?" Natasha turned her head to look at him, and his gaze snapped to her eyes.

"What?" he said quickly.

Natasha squinted, confused. "I… asked you a question…?"

"You… you did…?" Clint said, sounding surprised. "Oh, uh… I guess I missed it."

Natasha held his gaze for a moment longer, searching his expression. _That was strange._

Finally, she lowered her head to holster her pistol as she repeated her question.

"Oh," Clint said when she finished. He tilted his head, brow furrowed as he considered it. "How does half an hour sound?"

Natasha nodded. "Sounds good to me."

"Okey doke." Clint holstered his own pistol and tucked a spare magazine into the back of his waistband. "Well," he said. "I'm heading in." He opened the door and stepped out of the car.

"Good luck," Natasha called as he closed the door.

She watched her partner by the light of the streetlamps as he headed into the building. As he disappeared through the door, Natasha reflected on that peculiar exchange from a minute ago. She was pretty sure that the archer had been watching her while she was talking to him, and it had caused him to completely miss her question.

But why would he be watching her?

He had been acting a little weird yesterday, too, she remembered – greeting her enthusiastically literally every time he saw her, and generally acting hilariously optimistic about everything. Which, that in and of itself wasn't _too_ out of the ordinary, but… come on: _'Looking forward to the meeting later?'?_ Really?

So why had he been acting odd lately?

It struck her after a moment – it must have been because of what happened on Tuesday. She cringed inwardly at the memory – she had been so terrified when she'd thought that Clint had been attacked, she had almost fallen apart on his couch. He really _must_ be worried about her if he was acting overly excited whenever he saw her in order to cheer her up, and watching her so attentively that he couldn't even hear her talking.

It occurred to her then that it was unlike Clint to baby her like this – he knew she could take care of herself. But really, what other explanation could there _be_ for his strange behavior?

Stirring, Natasha glanced at the clock. Several minutes had passed since Clint had entered the building, and she decided that it was safe now to go in.

She slipped out of the car and strode into the building.

After showing her (fake) invitation, Natasha stepped into the main room.

The room was crowded, noisy, filled with laughing, talking people and light piano music. Natasha maneuvered around the scattered tables, passed the dance floor, and approached the bar.

She acquired her usual glass of vodka and took a seat near the bar.

She located Clint pretty quickly, walking around the room, scanning the partygoers. She knew she was going to have to strike the right balance between keeping an eye on him so she would catch whatever signal he was going to give her, and not watching him too much, to avoid rousing suspicion. She watched as he circled the room, then averted her eyes, taking a gulp of vodka.

"Hey, Lady," she heard a man say from behind her.

Natasha didn't turn around. She was all too accustomed to being hit on at bars – she had been expecting it.

"That's a nice face," the man continued. "Is there a number to go with it?"

Natasha lifted a hand, calmly studying her fingernails. "555-Not-Interested," she replied without missing a beat.

She heard the man muttering under his breath, then he stepped around her and headed sulkily out the door.

Natasha glanced towards Clint, and saw that he had taken a seat across the room. She watched him for a moment, waiting for a signal, then looked away. Some guy on the far side of the room was getting a lot of luck with the ladies, and she watched the scene detachedly for a moment.

(Some other guy approached Natasha and asked her if it hurt when she fell from Heaven. She told him to piss off.)

After a few more dull minutes of looking around at nothing in particular, Natasha glanced at Clint again.

To her surprise, he was looking right at her.

He blinked, then grinned at her.

 _Oh, no… is he doing the Blatant Optimism Routine again?_

He was still beaming at her, looking delighted to see her, and even though she was annoyed that he apparently felt the need to cheer her up every few seconds, he looked so ridiculously happy that she couldn't stop a smirk from claiming the corner of her mouth. Clint's grin widened, then he looked away again, and it was only then that it hit her.

He wasn't 'trying to cheer her up'.

That was the signal.

 _Oh, gosh… he's going to think I'm such an imbecile…_

Well, if that was the signal, then he was probably about to show her where Weber was. Natasha looked back at Clint, and saw that his gaze was fixed on none other than the popular guy across the room.

 _That's Weber?_

 _Well… I like a challenge._

Natasha slid out of her chair and crossed the room, leaving her vodka on the table. She pushed her shoulders back and arranged a beatific smile on her mouth, ready to get to work.

She reached Weber, and managed to duck between two tall women so that she was standing right in front of him.

"Having fun tonight, handsome?"

Weber looked up at the sound of her low, husky voice, and desire lit his face as his eyes crawled down her body. Natasha smirked down at him and moved in closer, so he had to tip his head back to look up at her from his chair.

"These hussies bothering you?" Natasha went on. She could tell she had his attention, despite the curvy blonde who was tugging at his arm, and she was relieved to see that a few of the women were already starting to filter away, apparently recognizing defeat already.

"You're pretty," Weber slurred. _Drunk_. Good – that would make it even easier.

She beamed at him. "You're sweet."

So now she had caught his attention with her words – a good start, but not effective enough to keep it for long. Now she was going to have to start getting engaged physically.

She reached towards him.

Suddenly there was a hand on her bare shoulder. Large, masculine. _Please not another drunk guy…_

She turned her head, and found herself fact-to-face with Clint.

Confusion filled her mind, followed shortly by irritation – couldn't he see that she was working? Why the hell was he interrupting her – every second counted.

She managed to keep her face neutral despite her inner turmoil.

"Yes?" she asked briskly.

Clint cleared his throat. "Hello. I'm Isaac Winters." He offered her a smile that was hilariously forced. "Can I interest you in a dance?" He extended a hand.

Something was off. Clint was clearly uncomfortable – he was usually better at keeping up a believable cover. He was obviously under strain.

Natasha was about to go with him, to find out what was going on, but then that blonde was back, as well as the two ridiculously skinny women who had left before. They had noticed her distraction and were taking advantage of it.

 _Dammit._ She couldn't stop now – she'd almost had Weber, and now she was losing him.

"Perhaps later," she said quickly. She turned back to Weber and was about to engage him again, when she was stopped by Clint's strong arms closing around her waist. All air was suddenly forced from her lungs, and then he pulled her up against his solid chest, the warmth of his palms bleeding through to her stomach.

Clint's chin was on her shoulder; she could feel his breath on the side of her neck, and she felt strangely dizzy.

"Come dance with me, beautiful woman," Clint crooned affectedly. Then he was shifting behind her, adjusting his hold on her, and her insides coiled oddly when his lips pressed a kiss into the center of her ear, his nose brushing her temple.

Natasha's heart was throbbing painfully, and then Clint breathed two warm words into her ear:

 _"_ _Wrong. Guy."_

Natasha froze.

 _Wait._

 _That's…_ not _Weber…?_

She tried to get a glimpse of Clint's face, but the angle was poor, and the tip of his nose was still lightly skimming her temple, making it hard to think.

This was only for the cover, and she knew it. So why was it so disorienting?

 _Focus._

 _This isn't Weber – I need to pull out._

She managed to distance herself mentally from the way Clint's fingers felt on her stomach, and re-immerse in her disguise.

"Alright, Mr. Winters," she said sweetly. "I would be _delighted_ to dance with you."

Clint tugged her away from Not Weber, and one of his arms fell away from her. The other one remained firmly around her waist as he guided her towards the dance floor.

 _"_ _What do you mean, 'wrong guy',"_ Natasha growled. She couldn't believe she had been about to seduce a random. What a _stellar_ moment for STRIKE Team: Delta – they couldn't even tell their target from a drunk guy.

Clint hissed gently through his teeth, warning her to keep her voice down. "Cover," he murmured.

Great – now, on top of their first mistake, she was compromising their cover. Fantastic. She gritted her teeth as they reached the dance floor, and Clint took her hand. She set her free hand on his shoulder as they began to dance.

Natasha took a few minutes to compose herself before trying to speak again. She was feeling frustrated now for more reasons than one – for the stupid mistake, and for the fact that she was hyper-aware of Clint's hand on her waist. _Just stop thinking about it, dammit!_

"Barton, what the hell are you trying to pull?" she blurted out. So much for composing herself.

Clint had been glancing calmly around the room, and now he looked down at her. "That's not Weber," he said simply.

She scowled. "So why'd you tell me it was?"

Clint's brow furrowed. "I… didn't…"

"Yes, you did," Natasha snapped. "You looked _right_ at me, and then you looked at him. Was that now the signal?"

Clint licked his lips, catching her attention. Irritated by her own distraction, Natasha forced her gaze to his eyes again.

"No, that was not the signal," he said quietly. "I was just, um… saying hello."

Natasha glowered at him.

It was at that point that it hit her that this hadn't been 'their' mistake – it had been _her_ mistake. Admittedly, that had been a bad (and weird) time for Clint to smile at her, but _she_ had been the one who had mistaken the gesture as a signal, not him. She realized she should go easy on him for his tiny slip-up, especially in light of her bigger one – it was just so easy to blame him rather than admit that, fool she was, she had taken a simple smile as the signal to take out a mark. _Idiot._

A twinge of guilt nipped her chest at the realization – she was going much harder on him than he deserved. She exhaled slowly, feeling the last bit of anger drain from her system. Then she leaned her head down onto his shoulder: a silent apology that she was too ashamed to voice.

"You're a blockhead, Barton," she couldn't help saying. Although she had to admit that the error had been mostly hers, she was still slightly irked – and confused – by the timing of his smile. And she wasn't quite ready to let him off the hook yet.

"I know. I'm sorry." Clint's voice rumbled against her head and chest where she was resting against him, and her heart jerked in her chest, reminding her of the weird sensations she had felt inside her when he was touching her before. Now that she had analyzed the mission errors they had made, her mind returned to that moment when she had felt his arms close around her waist, and her stomach twisted again.

It was almost like… she was attracted to him.

She tensed at the thought. _What? Of course I'm not attracted to him – we're just friends!_ In an effort to reassure herself, she slid the hand on his shoulder down onto his back, feeling his hard muscles ripple beneath his jacket. Her chest constricted at the feeling, and she went still, her heart starting to beat faster.

She wasn't attracted to him… was she?

On Tuesday, she had been so terrified by the thought of him being hurt – much more terrified than usual. She had told herself that it was because he was her best friend, but what if that wasn't it?

She remembered again the odd movements in her stomach when he touched her… and that was when it really started to sink in.

She rolled her head back slightly and stared up at the side of his head. He was humming under his breath, swaying to the music as his eyes flickered around the room. Her eyes traced his firm jawline, the line of his nose, the shape of his mouth…

 _Dammit._

She was in love with him.

* * *

 **For NRomanoff, who asked for the chapter where Nat realizes how she feels about Clint. :)**

 **Oh, and about the Russian in the last chapter - Forgot to translate it last time, but essentially, she cusses Tony out, calls him a coward, and berates him for leaving Clint behind. That's about all. x)**

 **Also, I have officially decided to do Step 7, so now my list for the next Nat pov steps has extended to** **6, 7, Break, 13, 15, 16, 18, 19, 21a, 21b, and 21c. Still haven't decided on 17 yet - it seems like it'd be hard to write, but I'll keep mulling over it. :)**

 **Have a lovely day - I'll try to get the next chapter out tomorrow! :)**


	28. Nat POV3: Step 6

**NRomanoff and Mockingjay500 - Thank you guys so much! I know I say this every time, but I am legitimately so relieved that everyone seems to be liking these new chapters, too - makes me so happy, like you don't even know. ^-^**

 **Ilessthan3KH - Omg literally stop you are way too nice. xD I want to hug you pls x) And yeah I'll totally do the Girls' Night chapter! It's one of my faves, too! x)**

 **Ok so this chapter is disgustingly long. x) I need to get back to my 1000wd chapters, I feel like I'm setting the bar too high in terms of length. :D It's just that once I start writing, I can't seem to stop!**

 **Anyways, bits of this are rough imo, but overall I think it's good. Hope you enjoy! :)**

* * *

Natasha slammed the door of her apartment and sagged against it, leaning her head back against the wood. Her heart was pounding, and she grabbed the skirt of her pale orange dress, twisting it between her fingers.

She couldn't be in love with Clint. She couldn't. They were _partners,_ they were _professionals._ She couldn't feel anything for him.

But then she remembered his arms around her waist, his breath on her neck…

"Dammit," Natasha snapped. She started forward, removing her pistol from its holster, and hurled the weapon onto her kitchen table. It was quickly followed by her spare magazine, her backup pistol, and the assortment of knives that was scattered through her clothing.

She couldn't be in love with him. Love was irrational. It was a weakness. It clouded your judgement, it caused liability. In her line of work, there was no way she could ever fall in love. It wasn't practical.

So why was she stuck thinking about his steady, blue-gray eyes, his warm, strong hands, his kind, familiar voice?

Natasha stalked to the pantry and got out a bottle of beer. She leaned back against the counter and took a long drag at it.

It couldn't just be physical attraction, either – that fact she was painfully aware of. She cared about him so much – too much, in fact. How could such a deep, long-standing friendship lead to something as shallow as a crush?

She was in love, and she knew it.

Fury was going to be so pissed.

Because this would ruin their partnership. She had seen it happen before. Agents who were in love were foolish and reckless on the field – they would drop everything to make sure that the person they loved was safe. They couldn't separate their emotions from their work life, and there was no reason that she and Clint would be any different.

Fortunately, she shouldn't have to worry too much about that – as long as Clint never knew how she felt about him, and her feelings died out pretty quickly, everything would be fine.

But… how could she get rid of her feelings?

Natasha glanced at the clock. It was almost eleven-thirty – late, but maybe not too late. She retrieved her phone from the counter and dialed.

Pepper picked up after the third ring. "Natasha?" She sounded surprisingly perky for so late an hour. "What's going on?"

"Pepper." Natasha scowled, leaning forward onto the table. "Sorry to bother you so late, but I need your help."

"What is it?"

Natasha exhaled slowly. "Remember that guy you wanted to set me up with a while back?"

"Drew Miller? Yeah."

Natasha glared at the tabletop. "I need you to set us up."

There was a pause.

"Oh, Nat, I'm sorry," Pepper said. "You didn't seem very interested when I offered the first time, so I set him up with someone else. They're going steady now."

Natasha huffed in frustration. "Well – is there someone else you can set me up with?"

Another pause. "I don't think so…"

" _Dammit._ I need this. I need a distraction," Natasha growled, raking a hand through her hair.

"Is something wrong?" Pepper sounded concerned

Natasha sighed. "Kind of – it's not important. I just really need you to set me up with someone."

Pepper took a slow breath. "Look. Natasha. If there's something you need to get off your chest-"

"I'd rather not discuss it," Natasha said impatiently. "Do you know someone who would go out with me, or not?"

Pepper sighed. "Well… there is this one guy…"

"Sounds great," Natasha began, but Pepper stopped her.

"Natasha, wait – I barely know anything about him. He's a former coworker of mine, and he was just asking recently if I knew of someone who would go out with him. I don't know him very well, though, and you might not like him—"

"I don't care," Natasha cut in. "That sounds perfect. Can you find out if he's free tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow?" Pepper said in surprise. "This seems really sudden."

"Can you set us up, or not?" Natasha snapped.

Pepper sighed. "Alright, I'll do it. Just don't blame me if he turns out to be a loser."

"Will do. Thanks, Pep," Natasha said. She hung up.

…

It was after nine the following evening when Natasha pulled up in front of the restaurant.

Pepper, angel that she was, had made all the arrangements: She had contacted her ex-coworker, arranged the time and place for the meeting, and given Natasha a bit of information about the guy so that she wouldn't be going in completely blind.

Unfortunately, Natasha hadn't been interested in hearing about this guy's backstory, so she hadn't been listening very closely and now she couldn't remember any of the information.

She parked her car and leaned back against her seat. She closed her eyes and took a preparatory breath.

 _I can do this._

She always hated going on blind dates. You knew little or nothing about the person you were supposed to hook up with, and it usually ended up being a night of forced conversation and awkward moments, time that could have been spent sparring or shooting, wasted.

 _I have to do this. If I can get involved with someone else, it'll help me forget about Clint, and I won't have to worry about our partnership getting screwed up. This'll be good for me._

Finally, having sufficiently prepared herself, she stepped out of the car and strode into the building.

When she entered the lobby, she immediately began searching the area, despite the fact that she had no idea what her date looked like. The maître'd asked if she had reservations, and she paused, trying to at least remember her date's name.

"Miss Romanoff?"

Natasha turned to see a man rising from a table not far away, dressed in a tux. He started towards her, and then he was right beside her, introducing himself, assuring the maître'd that "she's with me."

"So did you recognize me when I came in?" Natasha asked as he escorted her to their table. "Or was it just a lucky guess."

He smiled, helping her into her chair. "I recognized you," he said. "I've seen you before at Stark Industries. I think you interned there once."

Her Natalie Rushman cover. Natasha hid a smirk as he sat down across from her, amused that he remembered her from so long ago.

"So you work at Stark?" she asked.

"I did," he replied, as a waiter supplied them with menus. "I think you were undercover at the time, though – the staff figured that out later."

"I was." She had been assigned the surveillance job in Malibu to babysit Tony Stark, she recalled – despite her multiple requests to join Clint in New Mexico.

 _Clint._

Natasha swallowed, staring fixedly at her menu. She could hear her date talking, but she didn't know what he was saying, and she didn't care. Suddenly she was back at Clint's apartment, her palms forcing him up against the wall, and he was looking down at her, concern stirring in his blue-gray eyes. _Nat… I don't know what you're talking about. Nat. Believe me._

"I'll be back with that shortly."

The waiter was walking away from the table with their menus, and Natasha couldn't remember what she had ordered. She hoped it was something good.

She glanced across the table at her date, hoping he hadn't noticed her distraction. He smiled at her. What was his name again?

"How about you?" he asked.

Natasha froze, realizing she had no idea what he had asked her. Since when was she so out of touch with her surroundings?

Oh, right – maybe since she fell in love.

 _Der'mo._

Rather than give a vague answer and pray that it somehow connected with his question, Natasha laughed lightly.

"Forget about me – tell me more about _you,"_ she urged. Her date looked flattered. "So, you were working at Stark. Where are you working now?"

 _Why don't you tell me what's going on?_

Clint's serious eyes were suddenly fixed on her again, and then she was curling up in the corner of his couch, trembling. She could feel the couch sink down when he sat down beside her, could hear him shifting uncomfortably while he waited for her to calm down.

Why hadn't he tried to comfort her?

She supposed it was because he had felt too awkward after her impulsive hug, but she wished he would have. At least partly because it would have meant she would have heard his reassuring voice, maybe felt his muscular arms around her…

"Going to eat any of that?"

Natasha looked up. She realized with a start that her food had arrived without her notice. Fortunately, based on the state of her companion's dish, it hadn't been here for very long. But still – how long had she been fantasizing about Clint and his muscular arms? Too long, definitely. She had come here to get him off her mind, but so far, it didn't seem to be working.

She had to stop thinking about him. Determinedly, she dipped her spoon into the bowl of chicken soup and took a bite. The taste of the hot food in her mouth brought her further back to reality, and she made up her mind not to get distracted again.

"You seem a little preoccupied," her companion remarked, almost suspiciously. "Are you… thinking about someone?"

 _Dammit._

"Nope," she lied, aggravated at how transparent she was. "Just thinking about work. Tell me more about yourself," she added, but her date shook his head.

"I've been talking about myself for a while," he said. "Why don't _you_ tell _me_ a little about yourself? Like, what kind of work were you thinking about just now?"

"Oh." Natasha twiddled her spoon between her fingers. "Well… I work for SHIELD."

"Oh, that's right." Her date nodded, sitting back in his chair. "And you're an Avenger, right?"

"Mhm." She nodded.

"That's cool. What's that like?"

Natasha looked thoughtfully at the tablecloth. "You know… I don't know. I just… do what has to be done, I guess." She sat back in her chair, relieved to finally find a subject that held her attention. "Being an Avenger isn't somehow better than being anyone else," she went on. "We do what anyone else would do in our situation. We just happen to have more resources than the average person, so out results are more effective, and more noticeable to the public."

"Interesting." Her date nodded. Then he smiled. "So what's it like working with people like Captain America and Iron Man?"

Natasha smiled a little. "Umm… I don't know, I—"

"And the Hulk," her date went on. "And uh, Thor. And that dumb arrow guy whose name I don't know."

Natasha froze. _Dumb arrow guy?_

"Hawkeye," she said stiffly.

Her date made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Whatever. So what's it like?"

Natasha could feel a scowl forming on her face, and hot irritation was beginning to prickle at her insides. Maybe she should have just let it go, but she had heard far too many people underestimate Clint's skill, and every time, it irked her more and more.

She narrowed her eyes. "You do realize that Hawkeye is literally _the_ most expert archer ever known, right?"

Her date snorted.

Natasha stiffened, glaring at him. "What?"

"Nothing," he replied, grinning. "It's just – you say 'archer' like it's some great talent."

Natasha crossed her arms, her anger steadily rising. "Oh, I'm sorry. Go right ahead, show me how you can mentally calculate distance, elevation, gravitational pull, wind current, projectile trajectories, the curvature of the earth, bowstring tension, weapon size and mass—"

"Alright, alright, I get it," her date interrupted, looking annoyed. "He's really smart, or whatever. That's not what I meant."

"So what did you mean?" she challenged.

"That archery seems kind of ineffectual."

Natasha glowered at him. "How so?"

"Well, look at your team," he said. "Captain America is literally a living legend, who basically died and came back to life. Tony Stark is a celebrity and a certified genius, and he personally built his own fully weaponized suit. Thor is essentially a god, the Hulk is an eight-foot monster, you're _you,_ and then there's that arrow guy, an average dude who happens to know how to shoot arrows."

Natasha was gripping the arms of her chair, rage burning in her head. "So what's your point?" she snapped.

He probably should have been warned by her tone, but apparently he wasn't.

"That Hawkeye is useless."

"The _hell_ did you just say!"

Natasha was on her feet in a fraction of a second, and the table shook violently as she gripped the edges of it, leaning forcefully towards him. He looked up at her in mild surprise.

"Barton," she seethed, "is not useless. He is a master marksman, assassin, martial artist, and tactician, just to name a few, and quite frankly, I am fed up with people disrespecting his skill! Just because his abilities aren't supernatural or mythological, that doesn't mean he doesn't _have_ any abilities!"

Her date raised his eyebrows. "Gosh, calm down a little—"

 _"_ _Do not tell me to calm down!"_ Natasha slammed her palms onto the table, making the glasses shake. She was aware that she was making a spectacle of herself, but she didn't care. "You literally just insulted my best friend. I'm allowed to get as pissed off as I want!"

Her date's expression hardened. "To me it sounds like he's a little _more_ than just your best friend," he remarked. "Do you have designs on the arrow guy?"

Natasha just stared at him for a minute, her heart hammering in her chest. Then she stormed around the table, grabbed her date by his collar, and dragged him outside.

Natasha was fuming – normally she wouldn't have even taken the time to take the fight outside. But she knew that the manager would be called shortly, then security, and after that, maybe even the police. And she wanted to be able to lay into this guy for as long as she wanted, with no interruptions.

She yanked her date into the dark cool of the outdoors, and threw him against the brick wall of the building.

 _"_ _Vy chertovsky idiot!"_ she yelled in his face. She slammed his shoulders against the wall again. _"Vy chertovsky idiot! Vy ne emeet prava govorit chto!"_

Her date's eyes were wide, and his voice was pathetic and whiny. "I don't know what you're saying!" he bleated.

"You have no right to ask me questions like that about my private life, it's rude and insensitive!" she growled.

"I wasn't trying to piss you off," he whined.

 _"_ _I don't care!"_ she shouted, rage almost blinding her. _"Vy oskorbili menya i moi luchshi drut, ty mudak, i ya ne dayo derma bili ly vy yli nyet 'pitayas'!"_

"I already told you, I don't know what you're saying!" her date whimpered.

Natasha's right hand closed into a fist.

"Does this help you translate?"

As she drew her fist back, her cellphone rang.

Natasha froze, her arm hovering in the air.. It was Clint's ringtone. She hesitated, panting – any other time, she would have been delighted to talk to Clint, but not when she was about to beat up a douchebag.

"Might want to get that," her date mumbled.

Natasha glared at him. She shoved him against the wall again, then turned away, grabbing her phone and lifting it to her ear.

"The hell do you want," she growled.

There was a brief pause.

"Sorry, um…" Clint's voice said uncertainly. "Is… this not a good time for you?"

"Oh no, please, go right ahead and tell me why the _hell_ you're calling me!" Natasha snapped. She turned to look at her would-be date, who was sliding weakly down the wall. "I wasn't _busy_ or anything," she added irritably.

Another pause.

"Umm…" Clint said again. _"Maybe_ I should call you back."

"Don't do that, I'll die of suspense," Natasha snarled. Somewhere in her mind, it registered that she shouldn't be venting her anger on Clint, but she was too livid to speak calmly to anyone.

"Who are you talking to?" her date asked wryly from the ground.

Natasha moved the receiver away from her mouth. She was about to say 'Hawkeye', but she didn't want to give the guy another opportunity to bash the archer. Instead, she muttered, "It's just my partner."

"Partner?" her date repeated suspiciously. "What kind of partner? Your sex partner?"

Natasha felt heat rush to her face, and she moved the phone away from her mouth. "No! My _work_ partner, dammit!" she barked. "Why the hell would I even be here if I was in a relationship?" she couldn't help adding.

Her date grinned idiotically. "Just checking."

Natasha returned the phone to her ear just in time to hear Clint say her name.

"Natasha? Nat, who's there with you?"

Natasha froze.

To tell him who the guy was, would be to tell Clint that she was on a date. And, for some reason, she really didn't want Clint to know that she had gone on a date. She wasn't sure why.

"What?" she said, to buy herself some time.

"Who _is_ that?" Clint sounded apprehensive. "Where are you at?"

Natasha hesitated, lowering the phone again. Inspiration struck, and she hurriedly lifted it again.

"It's Fury," she fibbed. "I'm in a meeting."

There was a long pause.

Natasha bit her lip, fidgeting uncomfortably. She wondered whether Clint could tell she was lying.

Her so-called date struggled into a sitting position against the wall. Natasha's gaze snapped to him, and her eyes narrowed as her annoyance returned.

"Hurry up and tell me what you want, cause I'm kind of in the middle of something," she said briskly.

Clint didn't answer right away.

"Hey, Nat," he said finally. "Is…" He said something else, but his words were drowned out by the clatter of the door opening.

Natasha frowned, pressing a finger into her free ear to block out the noise. "Is what?"

A security guard stepped out the door and roughly yanked her date to his feet.

"Oh!" Natasha quickly stepped towards him, not ready to relinquish her victim yet. "I'm—"

"We got a report that this fellow was harassing one of our customers," the guard interrupted her.

"I know, just give me a minute!" Natasha told him impatiently. "I'm _trying_ to get rid of him!"

The guard raised an eyebrow. "'Get rid of him'?" he repeated.

Natasha ducked her head. "Don't go away," she said into the mouthpiece. She didn't wait for a reply – just lowered the device from her ear again.

"This man is my responsibility," she said calmly. "I'd prefer if you let it to me to remove him from the premises."

"No," her date panted. "She's psychotic! Get me out of here!"

Natasha quickly assessed the situation. If she let the security guard take care of her date, it would not only spare her the trouble of giving him a hard time, but also spare her the future trouble of getting him out of the area when she was finished with him. Besides, there were probably eyewitnesses who had seen her drag him outside, and she wasn't sure that revenge was worth taking the punishment for a misdemeanor.

"Fine. Take him," she snapped, tossing the man one last glare.

The security guard dragged him away.

Natasha lifted the phone to her ear again. "Okay. What were you saying?"

There was no reply.

Natasha frowned. "Barton?" She glanced at the screen and saw that the line was still open. She held the receiver closer to her mouth.

"Barton!" she said loudly. "Hey! Are you still there?"

There was a brief pause.

"Yeah, um…" Barton's voice sounded faint. He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Everything good there?"

Natasha leaned her back against the brick building. So that was it – he was worried about her.

"Of course," she said, struggling to keep her voice light. "Is that why you called?"

"Uh, yeah…" Clint sounded distracted. There was a short silence.

"Um, I should probably let you go," her partner said quickly.

Natasha opened her mouth, about to apologize for how rude she had been when she'd first picked up.

But then she realized that that admission would require her to explain _why_ she had been so irritable, which might lead to her having to explain that she was on a date. And there it was again – that nagging feeling. She didn't want him to know that she was on a date. And she didn't know why.

Instead, she ended the call.

* * *

 **Again, the Russian in this is basically profanity and lecturing. If anyone reading this speaks Russian, please forgive me: I know my Russian is bad - it's a weird hodgepodge of self-taught, Google Translate, and self-phoneticization. So yeah.**

 **Talia out! :)**


	29. Nat POV4: Step 7

**Derpypigeon - Omg I'm actually so glad you said that. :D Honestly I wasn't sure about Nat in that last one, so it makes me happy that you liked her. :)**

 **Big fan - Aww, thanks so much! ^-^ As for the request, that's actually not a bad idea. I might be able to fit it in somewhere, I think... maybe as a sort of an epilogue to the Nat pov chapters? I'll have to see, though. :)**

 **Ok so again... this is terribly long, and I haven't totally decided if I like it.**

 **I think it does have a few good bits though, so I hope you enjoy those at least! :)**

* * *

When Natasha woke up the next morning, her mind was instantly flooded with memories of the disaster that was last night's 'date'. She grimaced at the recollection, trying hard not to replay her date's harsh words about Clint in her mind.

 _So, maybe hooking up isn't the best way to get Clint out of my head…_

Her text alert went off. Natasha sat up and caught the phone from her nightstand.

The message was from Hill:

 _[9:03, Hill]_ ST Delta debrief Thurs undercover op Sat 11.

A debriefing for the Weber case – she'd been wondering when that was going to pop up. Normally, they ran debriefing almost directly after an op, so as to record the details while they were still fresh, but Natasha wasn't too concerned about the delay. She had a feeling that the details of the Weber op were going to stay clear in her mind for a very long time.

It was around then that it also clicked that Clint would be in the debriefing with her. _Clint…_ Suddenly she was stuck wondering how she should act towards him.

 _I'll figure it out as I go along,_ she decided. _As long as I don't mention the fact that I went on a date last night, I should be fine._

It occurred to her again to wonder why she was so determined for Clint to be unaware of her date. But rather than investigate the feeling further, she simply pushed it aside and got out of bed.

…

After breakfast and a quick shower, Natasha headed to HQ. It was around ten till eleven when she arrived, so she judged that she had enough time to grab a coffee from the café before the debriefing.

(Part of this decision may have been connected to the fact that she knew Clint often hung out in the café in the mornings.)

When she entered the café, she was immediately aware of her partner, sitting at a table near the center of the room. She debated whether or not to join him as she prepared her coffee, and finally decided in favor of it – she may have been trying to fall out of love with him, but he was still her best friend, and there was nothing wrong with her spending time with him.

(At least, that was the excuse she gave herself for heading over to his table.)

Clint was slouched over in his chair, scowling into his coffee cup when she slid into the seat across from him.

"Hey," she greeted.

"Hey," he muttered, barely glancing at her.

 _Wow, he doesn't sound happy._

Natasha took a sip of coffee. "Looking forward to the debriefing?" she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Nah," Clint mumbled without looking up.

Natasha watched him, puzzled, as he continued to glower into his mug, fidgeting absentmindedly with the handle. Clearly he was ticked off about something, but she didn't know what.

"How was your meeting?" Clint growled after a moment.

Natasha's brow furrowed in confusion. _Meeting?_

"What?" she asked.

"Your meeting," he repeated, still glowering at his coffee. "You had a meeting last night, right?" He finally lifted his eyes, fixing her with an reproachful glare. "Kind of a weird time for a meeting."

It took her a moment to realize what he was getting at.

 _"_ _Ohh,"_ she said, her heart sinking. "Oh, that."

When he'd called her last night, he'd asked her where she was, and she'd told him that she was in a meeting with Fury. Natasha groaned inwardly – from the looks of it, he had known she was lying.

Still, she couldn't back out now.

"Yeah, it went alright," she fibbed. "It _was_ a weird time – Fury called it up kind of last-minute. He got a report of another HYDRA attack. In Oakland," she added. Truthfully, she wasn't even sure why she was keeping up the charade at this point – it would be way too easy for Clint to disprove her story.

But, then again, she still didn't want to tell him about the date.

Clint was still fidgeting his cup, frowning at the tabletop. "Wonder why he didn't invite me."

Natasha hesitated. "Well… I don't know," she said slowly. "Maybe he figured you had enough on your plate."

It was a lame explanation, and she knew it. The Weber op had been Clint's first op in a long time, not counting the Dawson op (and that one had been hers more than his).

Natasha clenched her teeth, as the reason for Clint's irritation gradually came to light. He knew that she had lied to him last night, first of all, and secondly – she had snapped at him over the phone. Natasha cringed inwardly as she remembered how impatient she'd been with him. Suddenly she realized that she owed him an apology. She still didn't want to tell him about her date, and she still didn't plan to, but he still deserved at least that much from her.

Natasha took a steadying breath. "Look," she began. "About your phone call—"

"You were on a date, weren't you," Clint snapped. Natasha froze, her heart thumping loudly. _How the hell did he…_

Clint was scowling at her across the table, and she quickly arranged a frown of confusion on her brow.

"What?"

"I said," Clint snarled, _"a date."_ He crossed his arms, glowering at her. "I heard what you were saying to him, you know: 'It's my work partner – why would I be here if I was in a relationship?'"

Natasha hesitated. _Great. How'm I going to explain this one away._ "Okay…" she began slowly. "I can see why you would _think_ that, but—"

"Stow it, Romanoff," Clint said sharply. "I know you're lying to me."

Natasha exhaled in frustration. He had already figured it out – what was the point in pretending?

It was also at that moment that it hit her why she hadn't wanted him to know about the date. It was because somehow, on some level, she'd hoped that there might still be a chance for them. Even despite what she'd decided before, she'd still been holding out hope, so she hadn't wanted him to think of her as 'taken'.

Her face twisted into a frown when she realized it. She had to tell him, then – they couldn't be in a relationship even if Clint wanted it (which he probably didn't), so there was no point in deceiving him anymore.

"Alright," she snapped. "Fine. Yes, I was on a date. So what?"

Clint blinked. He flopped back into his chair, looking shocked, despite the fact that he'd already guessed the truth.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he said quietly.

"Why do you care so much?" she shot back. "It's not any of your business when I go on dates – I don't get why you're so mad about it." She glared at him.

Clint looked thoughtfully at her for a minute. "Well… because you're my best friend," he said. "So I figured you would _want_ to talk to me about your boyfriends."

 _Boyfriends._

"He's _not_ my boyfriend," she exclaimed. "We went on _one date,_ and we probably won't again." _More like_ definitely _won't again._

Clint raised his eyebrows. "Well then why did you lie about it?"

"What's it to you," Natasha barked.

Clint's brow furrowed. "You don't need to get so defensive about it."

"And _you_ don't need to _harass_ me about it," she returned.

Clint's frown deepened. "I'm not 'harassing' you," he replied. "I'm asking you perfectly innocent questions."

He was right, and she knew it. But she was too stubborn to back down.

"And _I'm_ asking _you_ to shut up!" she said heatedly.

Clint blinked. "I just—"

"Well just shut up!" Natasha snapped.

Clint shut up.

A few minutes passed as they both sipped their coffee in tense silence. Clint had got out his phone and seemed to be texting someone, and Natasha scowled at her cup, thinking.

Her date was out in the open now, and it was probably for the best – but she still wished it wasn't, somehow. Also, it was growing painfully apparent that she needed to apologize to him – not only for last night, but for her harsh words just now, too.

She was trying to muster up the courage when she felt something brush past her leg under the table – unmistakably Clint's boot. She looked quickly at him, thinking it was his way of trying to get her attention, but his eyes were calmly scanning the room, and he didn't appear to have noticed the contact.

After a moment, she drew her leg away.

Barton's face was hidden behind his mug when Hill approached their table.

"Barton? Romanoff?" she said, and Clint's head snapped towards her. "Ready for you now."

Natasha stood up right away as Hill started back towards the hall. She heard Clint's footsteps behind her, and he appeared on her right.

Neither of them spoke as Hill led them towards the conference room, but Natasha could feel the tension hanging thick in the air between them. He was walking quite close to her, she noticed, almost _too_ close – and then his bare arm brushed up against hers. Quickly, she edged away from him, annoyed at how her heartrate had spiked a little at the contact. He just touched her so seldom that it always caught her off guard when he did. She glanced up at him, but his eyes were fixed on Hill, and again, he didn't seem to have noticed the touch.

Hill led them into a small debriefing room and moved to the head of the table. Natasha followed, and when her partner passed her to circle around to the far side of the table, his arm brushed past hers again. Natasha watched him critically as she sunk into her chair. He still wasn't looking at her – his gaze was still focused on the commander as she sifted through a few folders. But Natasha could see something flickering in his eyes, and she knew he was doing it on purpose. He knew how particular she was about her personal space, so he was always careful to respect it; he couldn't have touched her that many times by accident.

Her mind quickly searched for a reason, and she settled on one: he was still angry with her, so he was expressing his frustration by deliberately intruding on her personal space. It wasn't like Clint to be petty, but it was the only explanation she could come up with that made any sense.

Of course, he had no way of knowing how marginally his little touches bothered her.

"Alright," Hill said, finally locating the correct file. "I'm going to start by reviewing your operation orders.

"Your orders as Director Fury supplied them were as follows…" She glanced at the file. "You were to follow up on an anonymous tip about a HYDRA agent who was reported to be in the area: Alrik Weber. You were ordered to attend a local charity party undercover in order to search for the agent. Should the target have been present, your job was to lure him to a secluded environment and take him down.

"According to our records, Agent Romanoff had never crossed paths with Weber, and Agent Barton had. Our only photograph of the target is inconclusive, and…"

Natasha had been paying close attention, but then she felt Clint's foot brush past her leg again, and suddenly she didn't know what Hill was saying anymore. She pulled her legs back without looking at him, but the contact was enough to distract her attention from the debriefing.

And then suddenly, unexpectedly, she found herself looking at her feelings for Clint in a whole new light.

All this time, she'd been afraid of falling in love with him. Afraid of what it would do for their partnership, for their friendship.

But suddenly she was thinking about how he made her feel. How she always looked forward to seeing him. How she always felt so safe and contented around him. How thrilled she felt every time he touched her.

And she realized then that at least part of the reason she was so afraid of loving him, was for fear that he didn't love her back.

Of course, there was still the fact that they were partners. The fact that their relationship could affect their field work.

But now she was realizing that she'd been focused on the negative effects of a relationship. She had been fixated on ways that love could make her weak, and she hadn't given a thought to the ways that love would make her strong.

Right now, for instance, she was so distracted by her feelings for him that she couldn't even focus on the debriefing. If she could just resolve her feelings, she knew how much more in tune she would be with her surroundings than she had been of late. And on the field, she and Clint were an unstoppable team, so dynamic and in-sync. But if they were in a relationship, wouldn't that make them even more connected with each other? Wouldn't their love make them stronger together?

These reflections were revolutionary for her, and her heartbeat was speeding up again. She tried to focus her attention on Hill again, but her mind was still spinning with these new ideas, and before she knew it, Hill was ending the debriefing, and instructing them to fill out mission reports before they left.

Clint stood up instantly and headed out of the conference room. Oh, right – he was still pissed at her.

She needed to apologize.

…

Natasha found Clint sitting in the report office, dutifully scribbling at a report sheet. Tentatively, Natasha slid into the seat beside him, and tried to concentrate on her report.

She was very aware of Clint's proximity to her, but she didn't speak to him for a few minutes, trying to decide the best time and way to bring up the subject.

Finally, she made up her mind to stop planning and just say it.

She turned abruptly to look at him, and he easily met her gaze.

"Look, Barton," she began, as he watched her calmly. She exhaled and pressed her lips together. "I've been thinking, and… I owe you an apology." She stopped. "Or. More than one, actually."

Clint merely raised his eyebrows.

Natasha took a slow breath.

"When you called… last night… I was really pissed off," she began haltingly. "And… I kind of took it out on you… You didn't deserve that."

Clint didn't answer. He just kept studying her.

Natasha swallowed. "And… I shouldn't have lied to you about where I was last night. I just…"

She dropped her eyes and took another deep breath. If she was really going to be open to a relationship, she had to tell him. She was suddenly aware of him shifting closer to her, waiting for her to speak.

"I just knew," she said quietly, "that if I told you I was on a date, you would take it as something serious. And it really wasn't," she added quickly. "It was actually just a blind date – there was some guy who Pepper wanted to set me up with, and…" She stopped herself. He probably wasn't interested in hearing the whole story of how she had ended up with that guy, and she wasn't all that eager to relive it either.

"Well," she said instead. "I wasn't – that is… I wanted you to know that I'm single."

 _Wait, what?_

 _Oh, crap… what did I just say…_

Natasha shook her head rapidly, unable to meet his eyes. "No, no, that came out wrong," she stammered. "I mean, I didn't want you to think I'm – I mean, well, I'm _not_ – see, I just—" She stopped herself again and exhaled, trying to calm down a little. _Oh, god… this is a disaster._

She could feel Clint's curious gaze on her, and she tried to recover herself again. "It wasn't exactly a date – or at least, it _was,_ but I mean, it wasn't exactly, like, an official thing. You know? I mean, it sort of was, I guess, but not really – just in the way that, like, it was set up, and…"

She kept stumbling on, feeling heat rise steadily to her face. _Oi, chertov…_ Since when did she get so tongue-tied around him?

Well, if he hadn't known that she was interested in him before, he certainly did now.

Clint cleared his throat, interrupting her ramblings. "So… the date didn't go well?"

 _Thank God._

"We ended up disagreeing," Natasha told her report sheet. For a brief second, she considered telling him exactly what she and her date had disagreed about, but she decided against it. Better not make herself look even more obsessed with him than she already did. "We were actually right in the middle of a shouting match when you called," she said instead. _And by 'shouting match', I mean, my shouting was unmatched._

Clint remained quiet.

"Anyways." Natasha self-consciously tucked her hair behind her ear, relieved that she was finally in control of herself again. She even went so far as to meet Clint's gaze again, and her stomach flipped when she found his deep blue-gray eyes so near to hers. "I don't think I'll be seeing him again," she added. "He turned out to be kind of a jerk." She searched his face closely, subconsciously looking for a sign that he was happy to hear that she wouldn't be seeing the jerk again, but he just nodded evenly.

"Well, I'm sorry, too," he said. "I shouldn't have gotten so mad at you earlier – you were right, it wasn't really my job to grill you about your dates."

 _No, I was wrong, please grill me about my dates. It shows that you care,_ Natasha wanted to say. Instead, she just nodded.

Clint looked at her seriously for a minute.

"So… we good?" he asked.

Natasha managed a small smile. "Yeah. We're good." She held his gaze for a moment longer, then returned to her report.

She was very aware of Clint's gaze on her as she struggled to remember details from the mission. Well… she had finally done it. She had told him the truth, and she had shown him how she felt. Maybe even a little more than she'd intended to.

She wouldn't tell him how she felt right away, she decided – she'd try letting him in for a while, just to see what happened, and if he seemed interested, then maybe, _maybe…_ it could lead to something more.

Suddenly Clint shifted beside her, and then she felt the side of his leg resting against hers. She went still, staring at her page, and for once, she made up her mind not to pull away from him. She decided to let him in.

Being open to love was nothing she had ever considered, and honestly, she wasn't a hundred percent sure why she was considering it – it had been such a sudden decision, and it would probably be disastrous.

But all she knew was that she loved Clint. And if loving him was disastrous, then maybe she was ready for a disaster.

* * *

 **This chapter was requested by and written for Little Toruk. I don't know you too well, but I'm really thankful for your kind comments, and even more thankful that you requested this chapter! I didn't realize how much I needed to write it from Nat's point of view till I did. :)**

 **HUGE shoutout to all my readers. YES YOU. Thanks so much for checking this story out, and I really hope you're enjoying it!,! :D**

 **Talia out!**


	30. Nat POV5: -BREAK-

**Ravenpuff Nerd and Mockingjay500 - TYSM!,! I am just so flattered that you've stuck with my story for this long, and I'm glad you're still enjoying the new chapters I put out - really means a lot. :)**

 **Little Toruk - You are so welcome! I am so so glad that you liked the chapter - it's always a bit stressful writing for a specific person, because there's always that fear that you'll like it but they won't. So I really appreciate that you took the time to let me know you enjoyed it, and I'm so happy that you're happy! :D**

 **Big fan - Omg I want to hug you! Ok so I've been thinking more about your idea, and I think I've come up with a way that I can include it as sort of an epilogue to the Nat pov section. So it would be like another epilogue, but from Nat's point of view - probably wouldn't be super long, but I'm sort of super excited about it. :D Thanks again for your request, and have a lovely day! :)**

* * *

Natasha opened her eyes.

Immediately, she became aware of two facts: One, she was in her room at Stark Tower, and two, she was hungover.

She sat up in bed, and the drowsiness slowly cleared from her head, replaced by hazy memories from last night.

Unsettling memories.

She remembered the hot flare of jealousy in her head when she saw Clint talking to a blonde. She remembered telling him that "Sometimes getting wasted is better than dealing with real life." She remembered him taking her alcohol away, his eyes full of concern, asking her what was wrong. She remembered replying that she was thinking about stuff she couldn't have, and at his puzzled "Like what?", she'd had to physically restrain herself from saying "You" by yanking on his shirt, ordering him instead to stop asking questions or she might give him an honest answer for once. She remembered stumbling into him, she remembered his hands on her waist as he'd steadied her. She remembered noticing how close her face was to his, and having to tear herself away because she'd been staring at his mouth, wonderfully close to kissing him.

She remembered him walking close to her on the way to her room. She remembered his offer to change her clothes for her, and the nervous feeling in her stomach that had accompanied it. She remembered pleading him to stay until she fell to sleep, and she remembered him lying down beside her on the bed.

She remembered taking his hand in the dark, she remembered her sorrow upon the sight of the marks she had left on him. She remembered lifting his hand to her mouth and kissing and kissing and kissing: his rough knuckles, the smooth underside of his fingers, and everywhere between, as if her lips could heal him somehow.

That was where her mind went blank.

 _Oh no. Oh god no._

Natasha had got up and was pacing restlessly across the floor. She had said too much. She had gotten drunk, and she had said far more than she'd meant to say.

For the past few days, she'd been letting Clint in more. She'd been spending time with him, she'd been reading the book he lent her, she'd even invited him to spar with her.

She'd been testing the waters, trying to figure out if he was interested in her or not. But all along, she'd known that if he _wasn't_ interested, she wouldn't ever tell him how she felt. She would just have to learn to move on. Because telling him how she felt if he didn't feel the same could potentially ruin not only their partnership, but their friendship.

She'd moved too fast last night. She'd been intending all this time to go slowly: to let him in more, and watch him to see how he reacted. She hadn't intended to give him such a big indicator of how she felt towards him – not before she was sure of _his_ feelings.

But she'd been drunk last night, and that was exactly what she had done.

 _Oi, der'mo._

Natasha pivoted and headed into the bathroom to shower. If she was going to find a way out of this, she was going to have to do some brainstorming.

…

When Natasha emerged from the shower, her plan was clear in her mind: She would tell Clint that her comments the night before had been brought on by stress.

She had considered several different strategies – for example, just going home and pretending that nothing had happened.

But she had decided pretty quickly that this course of action would be unwise, mainly because it would essentially confirm any suspicions that might be in Clint's mind about what she had meant the previous night.

Besides, Clint would be sure to question her the next time he saw her, anyway, so what would be the point?

Telling him that she had just been frazzled because of work may not have been the best excuse, and there was a good chance he would see through it. But she couldn't think of anything better, and she certainly couldn't leave things the way they were between them.

So she would have to settle for the less-than-convincing explanation.

After drying her hair, she headed down to the kitchen.

When she entered the room, Pepper was already there, along with Steve and Bruce, who had apparently spent the night. Bruce was hunched over at the end of the table, idly skimming the newspaper, and Steve was heating up a skillet while Pepper started up the coffee machine.

She smiled when Natasha entered. "Good morning, Nat."

Natasha caught herself looking around for Clint, and she quickly tossed the CEO a smile. "Good morning." She moved to the cabinet where the cereal was kept and pulled out several boxes, lining them up on the counter.

"Sleep well?" Steve greeted her brightly. Natasha was surprised to see how refreshed he looked, until she recalled that he couldn't get drunk.

She nodded and hmmed in response as she distractedly poured herself a bowl of cereal.

She had just taken a seat at the corner of the table furthest from the door when she heard the elevator doors ding open down the hall. Her head shot up, and she listened hopefully to the shuffling footsteps that were nearing the door.

Then Tony stepped into the room, and she sagged in disappointment.

"Oh, good, you're all here," the billionaire said, and Natasha could tell just by the drowsy quality of his voice that he was hungover. "I wanted to ask you all to stay for the day. We'll do something fun tonight."

Natasha rolled her eyes as she took a tasteless bite of crunchy cereal. Count on Stark to arrange another party mere hours after the first.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Pepper asked gently, helping her boyfriend into a chair.

"Completely sure. First class," Tony said cheerfully.

Steve said, "What about Barton?"

Natasha's heart jumped at the name, almost as though Clint had entered the room. Her gaze snapped to Steve, and she found him watching her.

She quickly ducked her head on the pretense of eating her cereal.

"Yeah, what about 'im?" Tony replied.

"He invited?" Steve asked.

"'Course," Tony answered. "Think he'll stay, Widow?"

Natasha looked up, to find Steve still watching her closely. She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "How should I know?"

"Just wondering," Tony said.

The room fell into peaceful silence after that. Bruce's paper was slowly putting him to sleep, and Steve started lining up strips of bacon on the sizzling skillet. Pepper got a cup of coffee, and Tony got a glass of water and neatly dropped three Alka-Seltzers into it.

Natasha finally finished her cereal and put her dishes in the sink. She returned to her seat to wait for Clint to make an appearance, giving the excuse that she had to reply to some work emails. She pulled up some week-old emails on her phone and started scrolling idly through them, waiting.

It wasn't long before she heard the elevator ding in the hallway again. Her heart flicked hopefully, and she felt Steve glance at her. She scowled determinedly at her phone – she could tell that the supersoldier had caught on to the tension between her and Clint, at least on some level.

Consequently, she didn't look up immediately when Clint entered the room.

"Morning, Clint," Pepper greeted brightly.

"Morning," he said quietly. Natasha glanced up at him, and her breath caught in her throat when she found him looking directly at her. She quickly returned her gaze to her phone.

As Clint moved to the counter to get breakfast, Natasha tried to decide what would be the best way to run her excuse for last night by him. She considered just briefly mentioning it in passing ("Hey, sorry about last night, I was stressed"), but decided instead to take him aside when he was finished with breakfast. It would probably be more effective that way.

Clint circled around the table, and suddenly he was slipping into the seat right next to hers.

"Hey," he said softly.

Natasha glanced up long enough to give him a brief smile. "Hi."

The room lapsed into pensive silence as Clint began eating. Natasha continued heroically staring at emails on her phone, but she was very aware of Clint's every movement, and she wasn't even sure what she was reading anymore.

She waited for several minutes until he was through, then she looked up at him again.

"Hey…"

Instantly, Clint met her eyes, and she had to force herself to stay focused on what she was saying.

"Can I talk to you for a sec?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah, totally," Clint agreed.

Natasha nodded and pushed her chair back. She stood up, starting out of the kitchen, and after a moment, Clint fell into step beside her.

Natasha didn't speak as they headed down the hallway – she was too absorbed with trying to figure out how to approach the subject. Clint didn't seem too inclined to speak, either – he just walked quietly at her side until they reached the end of the hall.

Natasha remained silent for a minute, looking out the glass wall at the busy street below. She could feel Clint watching her, and finally she decided to just come right out with it.

She turned to face him, and was relieved to find him just far enough away from her that she was able to stay composed.

"Look, Barton, I'm just gonna get straight to the point," she said briskly. "I'm sure you're wondering why I wanted to get plastered last night."

Clint squinted thoughtfully at her. "It crossed my mind, yeah," he said carefully.

Natasha could tell already tell that he was going to be analyzing everything she said, and this knowledge threw her a little. She bought herself some time by nodding at him, and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well," she began slowly. "The truth is… I've kinda had a rough couple days," she lied. "I've been working on a daily basis, I've been a little short on sleep, and honestly? I think I just needed a break."

Clint was starting to nod slowly, and Natasha relaxed a little. His expression, however, still showed doubt, so she said, "I think I was more bombed than I thought last night, so if I said anything that sounded weird, it was just the alcohol talking." She made sure to look him directly in the eye when she added, "Seriously. You don't need to worry about me."

Clint was silent for a long time.

Natasha was careful not to fidget or drop her gaze; she just waited with affected calm as he rubbed absentmindedly at the stubble on his chin, considering her words.

"Okay," he said finally, and Natasha felt relief roll through her.

"But if something was wrong…" Clint went on slowly. "You'd tell me. Wouldn't you?" He was watching her intently, and she tried hard to look casual.

"Nothing's wrong," she said evenly. "I was just—"

"Natasha." He spoke her name as a gentle rebuke, and then he was right in front of her, and all of her faked composure vanished. Suddenly she felt vulnerable, exposed, as he stood directly in front of her, his bright eyes fastened on hers.

"I'm gonna be perfectly honest with you," he began quietly. "I don't believe what you're telling me. I'm not going to press you for answers, but I will say this."

His stern expression was suddenly kind as well, and she swallowed.

"If you change your mind about telling me, I'm here for you. Okay? I'm always here for you, Tasha." His voice went soft, and he tilted his head, his clear gray eyes searching her face so deeply that she was sure he could read her mind. "Don't you forget it."

Natasha couldn't move. She found that she was having trouble breathing, and she could feel an odd swirling sensation in her stomach—

 _Dammit._

She wanted to kiss him.

She clenched her fists tightly in an effort to prevent herself from grabbing him and kissing him then and there – _(I thought I decided to take it slowly, dammit!)_ – and she forced her gaze downward. As soon as his amazing eyes were no longer capturing hers, she was relieved to find that the idea of kissing him wasn't quite so dominant in her mind.

She could still feel him watching her, and she forced her voice into submission so as to keep him ignorant of her inner struggle.

"You're, uh… you're wrong," she stammered. "I'm… telling you the truth." She readied herself, then met his gaze again to give the impression of honesty.

He was looking thoughtfully at her, head still tipped on its side, but he didn't speak.

Natasha swallowed.

"But thank you for saying that, anyway," she said sincerely.

A hint of a smile lit his eyes, and he nodded.

Natasha edged slightly back from him, gradually enough that he didn't seem to notice, but just far enough that she could breathe again. The bluish gray shade of his eyes suddenly brought it back again – the memory of lying on her bed with him, raising his hand to her mouth…

"Oh! And, um. About last night," she exclaimed hurriedly. She forced a smile. "I will say this – thanks for looking out for me, but um, beyond that, I'd appreciate it if you just, forgot about last night. Just forget it," she instructed. "I said some stuff I shouldn't have said, and… I think I did some stuff that was pretty stupid."

Clint's brow furrowed slightly. "You didn't do anything stupid."

 _Right, because kissing your hand is in no way a hint that I'm interested in you…_

She caught herself glancing at his injured hand, and she hurriedly directed her gaze towards the window, hoping he hadn't noticed – he didn't need a reminder of the incident.

"Well," she murmured. "Even so."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him look down at his hand.

 _Oh, crud._

He looked at her then, and she focused all her energy in examining the windowsill – just lovely, so white and smooth. She wasn't quite ready to look him in the face.

"Anyways," Clint said swiftly. "I should probably go home now."

Natasha looked up at him, frowning. "You're… not staying?"

Clint's brow creased. "Huh?"

 _Oh, right_ —He hadn't been in the room when Stark invited them.

"Stark invited us all to stay the day, if we could," she explained, crossing her arms. "I think he wants to hang out tonight, just the six of us."

"Oh." Clint looked thoughtful.

Then he said, "Are you staying?"

Natasha looked up at him, surprised and pleased that his decision depended on her.

And then his eyes grew wide, and he said, "I mean!—Not that it matters, much—"

"I'm staying," Natasha affirmed, studying him closely.

"Okay," Clint said. "Then… I guess, I'll stay."

He spoke a bit haltingly, and a smile broke across Natasha's face before she could stop it. "Okay…"

"Okay," Clint said again.

Natasha's grin widened.

She had only seen him get all flustered like this a couple times in the past few days, and it always made her feel happy – not just because it was adorable (although it was), but also because it gave her hope.

It wasn't airtight proof that he was in love with her, by any means. But she'd been watching him closely lately, hoping to see some sign of what she felt reflected in him – and the moments where he got awkward and tongue-tied like this were the only possible clues she'd seen that he might have feelings for her.

"Hey, I'm gonna take a shower," Clint said, "and then we should hang out in the Rec Room. Want to?"

Natasha smirked.

"Meet you there."

* * *

 **This was requested by and written for Ravenpuff Nerd, a radical human being who has been really encouraging. xD I'm so glad you found this fic, not only because you can enjoy it, but also because it's been an opportunity for me to get to know you a little! :D Thanks for all your kind reviews, and I really hope you liked this! :)**


	31. Nat POV6: Step 13

**Ravenpuff Nerd - YAY OMG. xD Aggh tysm I want to hug you, okay pretend I just hugged you. x) AH I can so relate about the arrow necklace and the crushed hopes and dreams... x) And thanks so much for reading/reviewing!,! :)**

 **Liv - YAY YOU'RE BACK! xD I missed your lovely reviews so it's good to hear from you again - glad you're enjoying! :)**

 **Okay, I am so sorry that this is posted so late in the day - didn't mean to make you all wait. :/ I just wanted to make sure I had every sentence right bc it's for a very special person. x) Plus, I discovered that being tickled is freaking hard to describe - like? It makes you go into full-out panic mode but it's also kind of pleasant?,? Anyways, hope I did alright. x)**

 **Enjoy! :D**

* * *

When Natasha headed up to the Rec Room, her mind was still fixated on that moment when Clint had gotten flustered. It had been such a fleeting moment, and it was likely that it hadn't meant anything, but it was just so easy to latch onto the little moments that might have meant something when she had so few of them.

There was last Sunday, when he'd gone _way_ out of his way to see her at the park. There was Tuesday, when he'd had a little trouble getting into his stride during their sparring match, and she'd wondered if it was because of her. There was Wednesday, when she had been pissed off and snapped at him, and he'd fallen all over himself trying to fix things between them.

In each case, it was still more of a gut feeling than actual proof, and she had spent so much time analyzing every word he said, every look he gave her, in the hopes that she would see something more conclusive.

She had been sitting on a leather couch in the Rec Room for a while, zoning out on a news channel as she thought, and she was so deep in reflection that she didn't know Clint had arrived on the fifth floor until he walked through the door.

She looked up quickly as he stopped next to the TV, and managed to hide her surprise and accelerating heartbeat behind a casual smirk. Because of how little attention she'd actually been paying to the TV, she had to scramble a bit to find the remote and mute it, and when she looked back at him, he was smiling at her, hands stuffed in his pockets. She found herself analyzing the way he was smiling, trying to figure out if there was a deeper meaning behind it, and then she realized that neither of them had spoken since he'd entered the room and she needed to hurry up and break the silence before it became awkward.

"How was your shower" was what came out of her mouth. _Oh gosh, wow… that didn't sound suggestive at all._ She was groaning inwardly, berating herself for making a slightly awkward moment even more awkward, but to her surprise, Clint just nodded calmly.

"It was good. They have good showers here." He frowned. "They have good _everything_ here… Wait, why do we not live here again?"

"Because Stark lives here," Natasha said, relieved that he had successfully steered the conversation away from showers.

"Oh, that's right – forgot about that," Clint joked, grinning. "Guess they have good _almost_ everything here."

Natasha just chuckled and shook her head wryly.

There was another silence.

"So!" Clint clapped his hands. "What d'ya wanna play first?" He glanced at the dartboard on the wall, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

Natasha lifted an eyebrow, amused. "Not darts." She got up and stepped past him, heading straight for the pool table.

"What!" Clint exclaimed from behind her. "Why _not_ darts?"

She snorted lightly. "Uhh… because it's literally _impossible_ for you to lose at darts?"

"Fair enough. What, then?"

Natasha stopped by the pool table and swiveled to face him, leaning against the table. "Pool," she said, smirking.

Clint beamed at her again, and she felt delight rush through her – it made her feel so good when he smiled at her like that.

 _Focus, Romanoff._

"Sounds good to me." He started towards her as she turned away to grab a stick from the cue rack. She was about to step back to the table, but then she found him right behind her, reaching around her to seize a cue stick. She went still as he carefully slipped a stick from the rack, then stepped away.

She turned slowly, searching his face, but he apparently hadn't noticed the moment and was calmly chalking his stick.

 _Gosh, why is everything he does so damn distracting?_ She frowned hard at the tip of her cue stick, waiting for him to finish with the chalk.

If she was this distracted by him and the game hadn't even started yet, she hated to think what a mess the game was going to be.

…

Three games later, she had surprised herself by playing pretty well.

Granted, she was so sidetracked by Clint's arms every time he took a shot that she never even noticed whether or not he made it. But when she herself was shooting, she was able to concentrate pretty well, as long as she didn't think too hard about the fact that he was watching her.

She made almost all of her shots, whereas Clint's success was more varied, and she won all three games before Clint suggested foosball.

After several minutes of jumping around the foosball table and shouting at each other, Clint and Natasha collapsed onto the couch. They both sat there for a minute, panting and sweating, taking a moment to catch their breath.

"I really think we're getting better at that game," Clint remarked at length.

Natasha scoffed, her breaths starting to even out. _"Five_ of my points in that last game, were from you hitting the ball into my goal," she teased.

Clint made a noise of impatience, and the cushion shifted as he turned towards her. "That's because I kept getting confused about which side was mine!" he defended himself. "Why does it have to keep changing every game?"

Natasha rolled her head over to look up at him, amused. He was still slightly out of breath, and his hair was damp and tousled, and she felt a sudden urge to just reach up and run her fingers through it.

She flattened this urge and said playfully, "I didn't write the rules, hotshot."

Clint grinned at her, and she quickly looked away to avoid getting caught up in examining his expression.

Natasha leaned her head back against the couch and closed her eyes, relaxing. "I wonder what time it is?" she commented at random.

"It's eleven-thirty," Clint answered. "Wanna go see what the others are up to?"

A hand grabbed her knee, and her leg jerked as a thrill shot up it and hit her stomach. She stared wide-eyed at her bare knee, her heart thumping fast behind her sternum.

 _Did he just…?_

Clint had released her knee as quickly as he had grabbed it, and now he was sitting quietly beside her, waiting.

 _Wait, why would he do that?_

And then it clicked.

Last year. The sparring session. The unfortunate hold he had gotten her into.

He was tickling her.

She glanced at him, laughter fluttering in her stomach. "Don't do that!" she said glibly. He should know by now that she hated being tickled – although this time, oddly enough, she hadn't minded so much.

"Last I heard, Stark and Banner were in the lab." She didn't even know why she was bothering with trying to make conversation – he enjoyed teasing her, so telling him not to tickle her had basically been saying, 'Hey Clint, tickle me, I dare you.' She glanced apprehensively at him from the tail of her eye; even though she had kind of liked how it felt when he tickled her, her natural instinct was still to prevent him from doing it.

"I don't know where Steve and Pepper are, though," she went on. "I guess Pepper may have gone down to Stark Industries."

"Yeah, maybe," Clint said vaguely.

Natasha looked askance at him again. "We should find out if they're eating lunch yet."

"Why?" Clint asked. "Are you hungry?"

His hand closed around her knee, and she jumped when the tingly feeling hit her stomach again.

She turned to him, laughing. "Stop it!"

Clint's eyes searched her face, and then the side of his mouth slid up in a mischievous half-smile.

 _Oh, gosh – so we're doing this._

Pulse quickening, Natasha turned toward him and drew her knees out of his reach.

"Barton," she said warningly.

Clint's half-smile unfurled to the other side of his mouth as well.

"What?" he asked, his eyes going adorably wide and innocent.

The fluttery feeling in her stomach expanded, and she felt a smile that was equal parts nervous and excited spread across her face. Slowly, she began backing away.

Clint's grin widened, and he gradually pulled his legs onto the couch and faced her.

Then he grabbed her ankles, and a cry of surprise escaped her lips as he yanked her towards him. His hands collided with the couch at either side of her shoulders, and suddenly his face was mere inches from hers, and he was grinning roguishly down at her, his breath skating across her neck.

 _Oh crap._

His knees were resting loosely on either side of her thighs, so he was on his hands and knees, propping himself up off of her. She struggled to control her expression, and one of the butterflies flitted up out of her stomach in the form of a laugh. "Get _off_ , you dummy!"

Clint didn't get off. He just raised his eyebrows at her, laughter sparkling in his eyes.

Then suddenly his warm weight was pressing her into the couch, and his strong hands caught her by the wrists.

For a second, she was so preoccupied by the way it felt to have his body pressed against hers that she didn't notice that he was trying to maneuver her hands up over her head. As soon as she realized it, she tried to wrest her hands from his firm grip. "Barton!" she exclaimed, feeling oddly short of breath. "I swear I'm gonna kill you!"

Clint's laughter rumbled deeply against her chest. He managed to pull her elbows away from her sides, and she experienced the typical adrenaline rush that tends to hit when you realize you're about to be tickled and there's nothing you can do about it.

 _"_ _Barton,"_ she panted again, and more frantic laughter bubbled up out of her stomach. She started fighting him harder, but the truth was that she was too diverted by how amazingly near his face was to hers that there was little she could do – the only reason their faces weren't touching was because he was arching his neck and shoulders up off of her.

He was driving her forearms back towards her head, and it vaguely occurred to her to try using her legs – they were perhaps her best asset in combat. His legs were still resting loosely on either side of hers, and he was too focused on forcing her arms back to notice when she shifted her legs beneath him.

After some careful maneuvering, she managed to slide them out from under him, and there was a moment of triumph – until she realized that she was literally no better off than she had been before. She bent her legs uselessly up on either side of his hips, just as he managed to get her hands all the way down behind her head.

"Barton, _stop_ it!" she cried, falling back into hysterical laughter.

Clint grinned wickedly down at her, crossing her left wrist over her right in order to hold them with one hand. "What're you gonna do about it?" he teased. He shifted his weight forward to pin her wrists more securely to the couch, and to boost himself up off of her, uncovering her midriff. His free hand began creeping slowly towards her towards her waist.

A bout of panicked energy hit her when the inevitability of her situation sunk in, and she began struggling in a hopeless attempt to escape. "Don't do it," she laughed, "oh god, _stop!"_ She squeezed her eyes shut as his hand neared her ribcage.

She heard him chuckle impishly, just before his fingers trailed up her side.

Tingly thrills shot from her ribs up to her throat, and gushed out in shrieks of laughter. _"Barton,"_ she wheezed. "Cut it _out_!"

He skimmed his fingertips lightly across her stomach, causing the involuntary twitching of the muscles there and an odd choking sensation in her throat.

 _"_ _Clint!"_ she gasped, dizzy with laughter. "Clint, _stop!"_

The pressure of his hand on the couch caused her to roll over slightly, and then his head was bent low over hers, and his eyes were crinkling up as he laughed. Natasha was panting for air, laughing completely lost in the moment—

—and then she heard the unmistakable _ding_ of the elevator doors closing.

If someone found them like this—

Natasha sucked in her breath. "Oh my god, Clint stop it," she breathed. "Stop it right now."

Clint stopped laughing immediately.

He stared down at her for a minute, anxiously scanning her face, and then Steve appeared in the doorway.

The supersoldier's eyes widened. "Oh my gosh." He stepped hastily backwards, running straight into the doorframe.

Clint's head shot toward the noise.

Steve was talking quickly, apologizing, but Natasha was focused on Clint. She saw a ruddy tinge creeping up his neck, then he half-glanced at her and hurriedly backed up off of her. She sat up and turned away from him, tugging her fingers through her hair to obscure her reddening face.

"Look Rogers, it's fine," Clint was saying. "We weren't – I mean, we weren't about to… uh…" His voice trailed off, and Natasha could feel his gaze on the side of her head. She continued carefully admiring the floor, unsure what to say.

Then Steve had made some excuse, and was gone.

There was a long silence.

Clint cleared his throat. "Uh… sorry about that," he said. "I mean, uh, yeah, um, that was… Sorry."

Slowly, her head was beginning to clear. Now that her dismay at being stumbled upon in that situation had dissipated, an odd sort of amusement began to creep into her chest at the hilarity of the situation.

She covered her face with her hand and started laughing.

Clint joined in, and their amused chuckles developed quickly into stomach-aching laughs. It wasn't long before they were both flopped back onto the couch, completely out of breath.

Gradually, their laughter subsided, and Natasha sat up, wiping away tears of mirth. "Wow" was all she could think to say.

Clint sat up on the couch next to her, grinning. "I can't believe he thought—"

"I know!" Natasha interrupted hurriedly (she wasn't sure she actually wanted to hear the words out loud). "Because first of all, why would you be on top?"

 _Wait, what the hell did I just say?_

Clint went still, staring at her. "Wait what?"

 _Let's just gloss over that little moment there…_

She smirked at him and hopped to her feet. "Come on, let's go to lunch."

She had reached the doorway before she turned around and realized that he hadn't moved and was still staring at her, his mouth slightly open.

She raised her eyebrows. "Coming?"

Clint blinked. "Uh. Yep!" He jumped up and hurried to join her in the hall.

They were both quiet as they headed for the elevators. Natasha was watching Clint out of the corner of her eye, and all she could think about was his breath on her neck, his weight on her torso, his light touch on her stomach… A shiver trickled down her spine at the memory.

She still wasn't sure if that little episode had meant that he was interested in her. It had probably been the most conclusive evidence she'd seen yet, but she still didn't think she could look back at it and say with certainty, 'Yes, he's in love with me.'

But it was definitely a step forward – and she couldn't wait to see where the steps would lead.

* * *

 **This chapter was requested by/written for the amazing Mockingjay500! Babe it's been so freaking awesome getting to know you over the past couple weeks and I just uggh I don't know what to say. xD You're just so wonderful. I really really hope you liked this okay, and here's to always keeping the Clintasha ship sailing! *dramatically raises plastic cup full of apple juice in a toast***


	32. Nat POV7: Step 15

**Mockingjay500 - YAY I'M SO GLAD YOU LIKED IT! XD Haha, your review may be a mess of feels but my own soul is a veritable trash can of feels, so I could translate it fine! :D Aww you are so kind! *cyberhugs you***

 **Ravenpuff Nerd - Aww that means so much to me! :D I am a huge fan of keeping people sane, especially through long rehearsals, now that I can relate to! x) Oh my gosh you're so nice, it should be illegal to be that nice omg**

 **SHOUTOUT TO ALL MY REVIEWERS. XD Sorry, I got a lot of reviewers on that last chapter so I just picked a couple to reply to, but just know that all of your kind comments were read and very much appreciated!,! I really mean that so much omw. So glad you're enjoying it! :D**

 **Accidentally wrote a super long chapter again - WHOOPS. xD Kind of proud of it though, hope you like it too!**

* * *

When Natasha woke up the next morning, her mind was instantly flooded with memories of everything that had passed between her and Clint the previous day. Their serious conversation in the morning. Their companionable hours of playing games in the Rec Room. Whatever the hell that whole tickling thing had been. The little nickname he'd coined for her at the end of the day.

Was he falling for her? Sometimes it looked like he was, but Natasha was distrustful. She was too afraid to tell him, "You know how you're in love with me?—Well, I'm in love with you too!", only to have him tell her that she was mistaken, that he wasn't in love with her, that he would never be in love with her, that she'd been imagining it all along. And then things would be so awkward between the two of them, and she just couldn't do that. Not to him, not to her best friend.

She would wait.

When Natasha had been at HQ on Wednesday, Hill had informed her in no uncertain terms that she needed Natasha to come in on Saturday. Natasha dreaded the thought of having to go to work on the weekend (again), but Hill had been very specific, and she didn't see that she had much of a choice.

She flung her covers aside and hoisted herself out of bed.

…

It was close to ten-thirty when she arrived at the base. Hill had asked to meet her in the break room, so she headed straight down the halls towards the area.

As she neared the break room, Natasha caught onto a strange atmosphere in the halls. She was fairly accustomed to drawing stares in bars, and even at HQ by the awestruck recruits and sometimes Level Ones.

But the looks she was getting today were different – Level Ones and Nines alike were smiling at her as she passed, and they didn't seem to be simple smiles of greeting, either. A few people whispered to each other when she walked by, and she was sure she saw money change hands at least once.

 _What the hell?_

By the time she entered the break room, Natasha was thoroughly bewildered – and not particularly happy.

Hill was sitting at the table with two cups of coffee in front of her, glancing through a file.

"Hill," Natasha said sharply, coming to a stop directly across from her.

Hill looked up, and a smile reminiscent of the ones Nat had seen in the hall stretched across her face. "Agent Romanoff."

Natasha got straight to the point. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded, leaning onto the back of the chair opposite.

"Glad you could make it. Have a seat," Hill said facetiously.

Natasha scowled. _"Hill."_ She was careful to let a heavy dose of 'answer-the-question-or-so-help-me' creep into her voice.

Hill sat back in her chair, smiling cattishly. "As I told you on Wednesday, we need to discuss a recent proposition concerning the recruits program.—"

"Not _that,"_ Natasha snapped. She pointed toward the hall. "What is going on out _there?"_

Hill's smile broadened.

"We'll get to that shortly." She nodded towards the chair opposite her. "Have a seat."

Seething, Natasha dropped into the chair.

For a moment, Hill continued to smile maddeningly at her.

"Coffee?" She slid one of the mugs over to the assassin.

Natasha glared at her.

Hill leaned forward and rested her forearms on the table. "It's been brought to my attention recently that SHIELD is doing little to develop our younger recruits academically," she began, as Natasha sat back and crossed her arms. "Many of our recruits don't have the opportunity to pursue an education, and it's our responsibility to ensure that they are progressing psychologically as well as physically, not only for cultural reasons, but for practical ones."

Natasha raised an eyebrow impatiently. She was hardly interested in what Hill was talking about; she was really only listening so that Hill could get around to explaining the strange mood in the base.

"After meeting with the council," Hill went on, "we have decided to initiate an arithmetical training program for the young recruits. Recruits would be taught functional mathematical skills that could be applied on the field as well as in their day-to-day-life."

"Why are you telling me this?" Natasha broke in. It wasn't a petty question – Natasha was hardly involved with the recruits program, and she couldn't see why Hill judged that this concerned her.

Hill took a sip of coffee. "I understand that your responsibilities don't revolve around the recruits, but I was wondering if you'd make an exception."

Natasha frowned. "What do you mean?"

Hill paused. "The new recruits program kicks off on Monday. I've heard from several sources that you're skilled with mathematical concepts – currency conversion, for example."

Slowly, Natasha began to see what she was getting at.

"Currency conversion is a skill that is very applicable both in the field and in real life," Hill said. "I was wondering whether you'd be interested in leading a session on Monday."

Natasha was silent for a moment. _Leading a session?_ She'd never thought of herself as a teacher – though she'd never really tried.

"You wouldn't have to become an official recruits trainer," Hill added. "I just thought you would be the most qualified to start us off."

Natasha considered this for a moment.

"Okay" she heard herself say.

Hill raised her eyebrows, looking surprised that Natasha had agreed so easily. "You'll do it?"

"I'll do it," Natasha replied. Truthfully, she was a little surprised herself – but maybe it would be fun to try something new.

Hill smiled. "Okay. I'll give you the specifics later."

Natasha nodded. There was a brief silence.

Then, the knowing smile spread across Hill's face again.

"So," she began meaningfully.

Natasha lifted an eyebrow expectantly.

Hill took a leisurely swallow of coffee.

"Heard about you and Barton."

Natasha's heart forgot to beat for a second.

Hill was watching her closely, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, and Natasha struggled to compose herself.

"What about me and Barton?"

Hill skimmed her fingertip lightly along the rim of her coffee cup.

"That you're sleeping together."

The words hit Natasha with a physical force. She blinked hard, trying to reorient herself, as Hill continued to smirk at her across the table.

"Wh—wait—what?"

Hill smiled sweetly at her.

 _"_ _Sleeping together,"_ she enunciated.

"I _know_ , I—" Natasha rubbed at her forehead with two fingers, feeling warmth bloom across her cheeks. _People think we're romantically involved?_

Well, that would explain the looks she'd been getting in the hallway. Normally this wouldn't have bothered her so much, but now that she actually _wanted_ to be 'romantically involved' with him, all she could think was, _Have I really been that obvious?_

She raised her head, looking Hill straight in the eye. "No, we're not."

Hill raised her eyebrows, smiling.

"We're _not_ ," Natasha repeated, growing irritated.

Hill chuckled.

"Well, Romanoff," she said, grinning widely. "You know the drill."

Natasha glared at her.

She knew the drill alright. She had watched with disgust over the years as giggling SHIELD couples had received the dreaded File and sat down together to read through it – hands locked between them, helping each other turn the pages. She had always been determined never to have to read that file – getting involved with coworkers was a liability and just generally a stupid idea.

Or so she had always thought.

"When the board receives a report of employee fraternization," Hill went on gleefully, "it is our duty to see that you receive this."

She slid The File across the table.

S.H.I.E.L.D. EMPLOYEE FRATERNIZATION POLICIES

Natasha scowled.

"Romanoff," Hill said jubilantly. "I would just like to express to you how truly delighted I am about this new development, and how privileged I feel to be the one to present this file to you. Pretty much since the day you arrived at SHIELD, Fury and I have been speculating about how long it would take before we had to give you this."

 _What the heck?_

"Of course at that point, Barton and Morse had already dated and split, so we knew that we wouldn't be giving him the file when this day came," Hill continued, still grinning broadly. "But we also knew that when we gave you this file… it would be because of him."

Natasha could feel a blush stealing up her neck again. She glared at the commander.

"Cut the crap, Hill," she growled. "I already told you – the report is _not_ legitimate." She took a preparatory breath, then added, "Clint and I are not having sex."

(She impressed herself by managing to say the words aloud without picturing it too clearly.)

Hill laughed.

"Well, whether or not it's, quote, _legitimate,"_ she teased, her eyes sparkling playfully, "we're all really happy about it."

Natasha's frown deepened.

"Even Fury, although he won't admit it," Hill went on smugly. "Guy just said 'give her the file' like he doesn't owe me eighty bucks."

 _Eighty bucks!?_

"We have to be professional about it," Hill said, "but—"

Clint cleared his throat.

Natasha's heart slammed into her sternum, and her head snapped toward the sound. Clint was standing by the door, watching her curiously, and she hastily covered The File with her arms.

 _How long has he been standing there…?_

"Barton! Hey! It's great to see you!" Hill exclaimed.

Natasha carefully examined the tabletop.

"Uh… hey." Clint sounded puzzled to be greeted with such enthusiasm.

"I don't think we were expecting you to come in today," Hill went on brightly. "Do you have a meeting?"

"Uh… nope," Clint answered. "I just, uh… came to talk to Nat."

Natasha blinked, her respiration quickening a little.

She could feel his searching gaze on her. "Hey, Nat."

She glanced up, meeting his bright eyes, and managed a stiff smile.

"Well, in that case…" Hill caught Natasha's eye, all but waggling her eyebrows with glee. "I'll leave you to it." She pushed her chair back and stood, picking up her mug.

On the way out, she patted the archer on the shoulder, and Natasha caught the words "Good luck, Barton."

 _Hill, what the heck…_

The door closed.

Clint hovered awkwardly in the middle of the room for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder at the door, then locked eyes with Natasha.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Slowly, Clint cleared his throat. He jerked his head towards the door. "What was—? Why does everyone keep—?" He patted himself on the shoulder.

So he had caught onto the unusual tone around the base, too.

Well, _she_ certainly wasn't going to be the one to tell him. She didn't know where the rumor had originated, but she was willing to bet that it somehow traced back to herself, and her attempts to figure out how he felt towards her.

Besides, even if she _hadn't_ been in love with him, the whole situation was just kind of embarrassing.

Still, she had a feeling that he would question her until she gave him some type of information – maybe telling him about the new recruits program would distract him.

She took a slow breath, then nodded at the chair across from her. "Sit down."

After a moment, Clint crossed the room and settled into the chair, his eyes trained on her.

"What's going on?" he asked. His gaze flicked briefly down to the file under her arms, then back up to her eyes.

Natasha carefully lifted one arm off The File (best not to make it too obvious that she was hiding the title) and ran her fingers through her hair.

"Nothing," she began slowly. "I just—Hill wants me to come in on Monday. Apparently they have this new regulation with the younger recruits where they want them to go through some kind of arithmetical program." She quirked an eyebrow. "Apparently, someone decided that _I'm_ the most qualified to manage this program… so tomorrow I'm directing a session on currency conversion…?"

"Oh." Clint's brow wrinkled. "So, wait – you have to do this every week?"

She shook her head. "No! No, it's a one-time thing… I'm just teaching this one lesson, on Monday."

"Teaching a lesson?" A teasing grin slid slowly across Clint's face. "Wait—so, you'll basically be like a math teacher?"

 _Math teacher!?_

"Shut up. I'm not a 'math teacher'; it's _currency conversion."_

Clint smirked. "I.E., math."

Natasha rolled her eyes.

Well, at least she had succeeded in distracting him.

After a moment, she said, "Hey, you should stop by. You've never been good at currency conversion – maybe you could learn something."

Clint raised his eyebrows. "Maybe I will."

Natasha gave him a small smile.

Clint tilted his head on its side, squinting at her. "Wait. So… you _aren't_ upset about this?"

She frowned, puzzled. "Why should I be?"

Clint's brow furrowed. "Uhh… I… don't know?" He scratched the back of his head. "So… then what are you upset about…?"

 _Damn you, Clint…_ He always knew when something was up.

'Something' in this case being the file that was digging into her arm…

"I'm not," she fibbed. "What are you talking about?"

Clint's gaze dropped the folder again. He tipped his head at it.

"What's that?"

She looked down at the file, as though seeing it for the first time. "It's a comprehensive file on the recruits program," she lied smoothly.

Clint eyed her skeptically.

"Can I see it?" he reached towards it.

 _Dammit._

Natasha scowled at him, ignoring the request.

"What do you want, Barton – Why are you here?"

Clint pulled his hand back, watching her closely. Then suddenly his face lit up, and he jumped up out of his chair.

"Oh, right!" he exclaimed, a grin crossing his face. "I got something for you!"

She stared at him. _He got something for me?_

"What," she said blankly.

"I got you something," Clint repeated excitedly. "Come on! Come see!" He hastened to the door and vanished into the hall.

Somewhat doubtfully, Natasha stood and followed him.

Clint was striding briskly down the hall some distance ahead, and she had to jog for a few paces before she reached his side. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"Parking garage. I left it in the car." He peered down at her from the corner of his eye. "Good thing it's not too hot out," he said archly.

Natasha looked up at him in confusion. _Not too hot out?_ She tossed a few ideas around in her mind – Ice cream? Chocolate? An ice sculpture of Fury?

"Why?" she asked finally.

Clint raised his eyebrows, grinning, and she could tell he was enjoying tantalizing her like this. "You'll see" was all he would say.

They reached the parking garage, and Clint led the way over to his car. Natasha paused by the trunk, watching suspiciously as Clint opened the passenger side door.

"This had better be good, Barton," she warned. "I'm not in the mood to deal with your stupid stunts today."

Clint turned, holding a small cardboard box with holes poked into the top, and he set in on the ground.

"What—" Natasha froze. That looked like…

"Oh my god."

He wouldn't.

Would he…?

Natasha stared at the box. "Is that… an _animal?"_

"Yep!" Clint said cheerfully.

"Barton, what the hell!" Natasha said in disbelief. "Did you get me a _pet?"_

Clint's smile faltered a little. "Uh, yeah," he said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "They were getting rid of them at the animal shelter, so I thought I'd take one off their hands…"

"Barton, why the hell would you do that?" Natasha demanded. "I cannot take care of an animal – I don't think my apartment even _allows_ pets!" She crossed her arms. "I can't, I'm not taking it – take it back to the animal shelter."

Clint lowered his head. "I… can't. They won't take her back." He hesitated and half-lifted his head, eyeing her hopefully. "Do… you wanna see her…?"

His voice was so timid and halting, and his deep blue-gray eyes were fixed on her. For a second she almost caved, but then she remembered what he was asking her to do – to take home a freaking _animal_ and care for it – not something she was prepared or willing to do.

 _"_ _No!"_ she exclaimed, a little more harshly than was strictly necessary. "Get rid of it. Dump it in the woods or something," she added, hoping to help him out of his predicament.

Clint looked like he'd been punched in the stomach. "I can't—"

"Well figure _something_ out!" Natasha snapped. She rubbed at her forehead. "I cannot believe you would just up and buy an animal for me – why would you do that, huh?"

Clint dropped his head, kicking awkwardly at the ground. "I just… thought you'd like it," he murmured.

He looked so adorably awkward, and for a second, Natasha was tempted to relent again. But she was going through so much emotionally right not, and she just _couldn't_ have the added stress of taking care of an animal.

"You thought I'd like it? Barton—" She started towards him. "I cannot keep an animal in my house, okay? I'm never at home, and even if I was – I don't know how to take care of them."

Clint tentatively raised his head again. "Well it's pretty easy to learn—"

"Shut up!" Natasha snapped.

Clint shut up.

There was a soft scratching noise. Natasha continued to glare fiercely at Clint as a succession of tiny squeaks issued from the box.

Natasha sighed heavily. "Barton… did you get me a cat?"

Clint nodded and ducked his head again.

Natasha fell silent, biting her lip. _Nothing's changed,_ she tried to tell herself. But somehow, knowing what kind of animal it was made it feel more personal.

She stepped back a little, giving herself some room to think. She hadn't had a pet in years – not since her cat, Liho. She wasn't even sure whether or not Clint knew that she had ever had a cat – or a pet at all.

She thought back to how excited he'd been about showing her the pet. She thought back to how disappointed and embarrassed he'd looked when she'd snapped at him.

She couldn't have a pet, it wasn't practical, especially in her line of work when she was home so rarely… But the kitten's soft squeaks were reminding her of how much she'd enjoyed having a cat, and she could feel Clint watching her, and his gaze was so damn distracting…

He'd wanted to get her a cat. He had gone out of his way to specifically pick out a kitten for her, because he'd 'thought she would like it'.

Shouldn't she at least _look_ at it?

She turned back to face him, reluctantly meeting his gaze. "Can I see it."

Immediately, Clint bent down and opened the box.

His hands dipped into it, and then drew back out, holding a teensy ball of black fluff.

The kitten was completely swallowed by Clint's strong hands; only two round eyes were visible, blinking innocently at Natasha.

"It's tiny." She hadn't meant to say it out loud, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

"She's three weeks old," Clint replied. He stroked the kitten's head with one finger, and its eyes winked placidly. "They were just dropped off earlier this week."

Natasha hesitantly met Clint's eyes. "What's her name," she asked awkwardly.

"You get to choose," he answered.

Natasha looked down at the small black kitten in the archer's hand. _Strela._

Clint held Strela towards her. "Wanna hold her?"

She hesitated. Strela looked so soft and cute, but Clint looked even more adorable with a kitten in his hands, his brow wrinkled as he held her outwards. Finally she nodded, and her fingers brushed Clint's as she carefully took Strela from him.

The kitten was as soft as she had looked. Natasha held Strela gently against her chest and lightly stroked her chin. The kitten's eyes closed, and a soft rumbly noise began to issue from her throat.

Natasha didn't mean to say "Aww" out loud, but that's exactly what she ended up doing as she tucked the velvety kitten under her chin.

Clint cleared his throat.

"Uh. By the way."

Natasha looked up at him, feeling oddly bashful as she met his gaze. His blue-gray eyes were crinkled up at the corners as he looked at her.

"I… may have lied about the animal shelter," he said mischievously. "I can take her back, if you want me too."

 _Sneaky bastard._

Natasha dropped her eyes. "No… I'll keep her." She blinked in surprise – she hadn't actually been certain until she said the words.

Clint made a noise of mock surprise. "But you're never at home!" he teased.

"I know," she murmured.

"And your apartment probably doesn't allow pets!"

"I know…"

"And you don't know how to take care of cats!"

She glanced up at him, smiling diffidently. "It's pretty easy to learn," she quoted.

Clint chuckled and tilted his head on its side, smiling fondly at her.

Natasha swallowed.

"And you can teach me, right?" she asked hopefully.

"Of course!" Clint said instantly. "I'll show you everything! But first don't you think you should name her?"

Natasha lowered her eyes. _Please God, don't let him remember that 'strela' is Russian for 'arrow'…_

"She already has a name," she said softly. "Strela."

"Strela?" Clint repeated. "What kind of name is that?"

"Russian," she said vaguely, not meeting his eyes.

Strela looked curiously up at her as Clint replied.

"Strela it is."

* * *

 **Very sad announcement: I am not going to be able to post for a little while. Dx I have a short, one week summer camp beginning on Monday. It's still a slight possibility that I could get out a chapter or two, but the earliest I can tentatively guarantee a chapter is next Saturday, a week from today.**

 **Can I make a suggestion? My sister also writes awesome Clintasha fanfic, so if you're missing your daily Clintasha fix, you might check out her account. Her username is weepingangelofnewnewyork and she's awesome. :) I think our writing styles are similar, but I tend more towards humor while she will rip your heart out with incredible feels. xD**


	33. Nat POV8: Step 16

**BettyBackInTheDay - Thank you so much for your kind review! It really means a lot to me that you're reading/enjoying this story, because honestly, I've been a big fan of yours for a while - your portrayal of Clintasha is one of my main inspirations. Thanks again for stopping by, I really appreciate it! :)**

 **NRomanoff - Yay, I'm glad you liked it! :D And yeah, I was curious to see who would catch that Liho reference - the Edmondson/Noto comics are fabulous, are they not? :D**

 **Ravenpuff Nerd - Aww, I'm happy that my chapter made you laugh. x) And ohhhh I really like that idea... SO doing that. xD Yeah, it's official guys, I'm doing a second epilogue. :D**

* * *

The next morning, one of the first things that crossed Natasha's mind was her currency conversion session. It was to take place the following evening, and she realized she hadn't done a thing to prepare for it.

So, after a quick breakfast (for both her and her new cat), she headed down to HQ.

When she reached the base, she made her way towards the café. Just as she had last time, Natasha found herself on the receiving end of several knowing grins as she walked, and she even had a couple of people tell her 'congratulations'.

 _Well, if Barton doesn't know about the rumors yet, he will soon. No one's exactly being subtle about it._

It wasn't until she reached the café that she stopped to question why she had come here. She'd already had a cup of coffee at home, and she didn't feel the need to guzzle a minimum of two cups of coffee a day – unlike Clint.

 _Clint._

Of _course_ – that was it. She knew Clint always headed to the café first thing when he came to HQ, so she'd subconsciously headed this way in the hopes of seeing him.

Great. So now even her _subconscious_ actions were affected by him.

 _Dammit._

Natasha turned to leave the café.

"Agent Romanoff?"

 _I swear, if this is another well-wisher…_

But when she turned around, she found Sharon Carter striding towards her, clutching a few files and looking serious. _Thank goodness._

Carter had reached her side. "Hill wanted me to give you these when you got here." She held out a file, and Natasha took it. "This is a file on the recruits program. It has some information that could prove to be helpful for your session tomorrow." She passed the other file. "And here is a document profiling our younger recruits who are likely to attend the session. Hill thought it might help."

"Thanks." Natasha took the files and tucked them under her arm.

"So," Carter said. A smile tugged at her mouth. "You and Barton, huh?"

Natasha gave her a Look, then pivoted and stalked back into the hall.

She found a spare office room on the first floor and used it to set up her supplies. She found a few notebooks and writing utensils in a drawer, and she sat down at the table and got to work.

She worked in silence for the better part of an hour, until heavy footsteps neared her door.

Clint Barton strode in.

His face was drawn tight with an emotion she couldn't read, and she struggled to control her surprise and pleasure at his sudden appearance.

"Hey, Barton," she said evenly, as he stalked towards her.

"Hey. Hi. Hello." He slammed his palms onto the table, leaning across it towards her. "Yeah, what the hell is going on?"

Natasha frowned, confused by his aggressive manner. "What—"

 _"_ _Going on,"_ Clint enunciated, gesturing towards the door. "What the hell _is?"_

Natasha glanced blankly at the door, then shook her head. "I don't—"

"Were you reading the Employee Fraternization file yesterday?" Clint spat.

Natasha stopped.

 _Ohh._

He knew.

She set her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands, studying him. He was glaring fiercely at her, as though daring her to contradict him.

"Found out about that, did you?" she said wryly.

Clint's expression changed from fury to pure shock.

Slowly, he lowered himself into the seat across from her, staring at the tabletop.

Even though Natasha hadn't wanted to tell him herself, she had been curious to see how he would react to the news of the gossip about them. Based on his expression, he was far from pleased.

Clint's brow creased. "So, wait. Why—wh—" He broke off and exhaled, running his fingers through that amazing hair.

His eyes shot to hers, and she quickly pushed aside all thoughts of the amazing hair. "Why didn't you tell me yesterday?" he asked quietly.

His powerful gaze was disconcerting, and she dropped her eyes before she spoke. "I dunno… I guess… I thought it would be… awkward," she stammered. _Smooth._

"Oh, okay." Clint's voice had taken on that hard edge again. "So it would have been _less_ awkward for me to find out from say, the guys at the coffee machine?"

Natasha grimaced at the table. Maybe he was right – maybe it would have been better if she had told him…

But how _could_ it be? _Wouldn't_ it be more natural for him to figure it out the way everyone else had, rather than her taking him aside for an awkward conversation that revolved around the two of them having sex?

So she looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said dryly. "Would you have _preferred_ to hear it from me?"

"I would have _preferred_ that, yes!" Clint snapped.

Natasha frowned. Maybe she was just having trouble seeing it from his perspective, because to her, that seemed like the less favorable option.

Or maybe it was because she was in love with him that she would have found the conversation uncomfortable…

"Okay," she said slowly. "Why?"

Clint sighed and leaned forward, resting his arms on the tabletop.

"Because you're my best friend, Nat," he said softly. "I want to hear about this kind of stuff from _you_. You can tell me anything."

 _What the…_

"Okay, wow, what the heck!" Natasha stared at him, bewildered at how seriously he was treating the whole thing. "It's just a stupid rumor!"

Clint blinked. "What?"

"What?" Natasha said back.

Clint blinked again, then slowly sat back in his chair. "I didn't know it was just a rumor."

 _Wait._

 _He didn't know it's just a rumor that we're sleeping together!?_

Natasha's brow furrowed in bewilderment, and she let out a short laugh of disbelief. "Oh my god, Barton – You, of all people, should know that it's just a rumor!"

Clint frowned in puzzlement. "What do you mean 'me of all people'?"

Natasha raised her eyebrows, studying him closely. "You really… _don't_ know about this, do you?"

Clint scowled. "Know about _what?"_

 _Nope, he doesn't know._

 _Which means I have to tell him now._

 _Terrific._

Natasha took a preparatory breath and folded her arms on the table. Clint watched her expectantly.

"Yes, Barton. There is a rumor," Natasha began. "A rumor about me, and… another SHIELD employee." She exhaled. "I _told_ Hill it wasn't true… but apparently the procedure is that, whenever the heads of SHIELD receive even a _report_ about employee fraternization, they are required to give the employees in question the file to read."

 _So far, so good._

Clint's piercing gaze was still unnerving her, so she lowered her head and stared fixedly at the tabletop as she added, "In this case, the… other employee in question had already read the file, so… he wasn't notified."

There was a pause as Clint considered her words.

"So," Clint spoke up. "Who was the other employee?"

Natasha laughed softly, tucking her hair self-consciously behind her ear. She glanced up at her partner. "Who do you think?" she asked wryly.

"Mayer," Clint answered.

Natasha blinked. Was he teasing her? Surely it was glaringly obvious who the rumors were about – she spent more time with Clint than she spent with anyone else.

Maybe the idea of the two of them being a couple had never crossed his mind…

Her heart dropped a little at the thought, especially considering that the idea of them being in a relationship was practically all she thought about these days. She pushed these reflections to the side and shook her head in response to his question.

"No… not Mayer," she answered carefully. "A guy who I hang out with a lot… who I'm really close with… and people have started speculating about us."

Clint looked blankly at her. "Who?"

Natasha raised her eyebrows pointedly.

Clint frowned. "Fury…?"

Now he _was_ teasing her.

She tried to laugh, shaking her head again. "Oh my god… you're really gonna make me say it, aren't you?"

Clint didn't answer. He listed his head at her, his eyes searching her face.

Natasha forced another laugh and dropped her gaze. She could still feel him watching her as she examined her fingernails, working up the courage to say the words.

"People think you and I are sleeping together," she blurted out.

 _There, I said it._

Clint was quiet for a long time.

Natasha fidgeted nervously, scowling hard at her fingernails. Finally, she ventured to glance at his face.

He was staring thoughtfully at the table without speaking. And as Natasha watched, a tinge of color crept up his neck and flooded his cheeks.

So, on the upside, at least he was as uncomfortable as she was.

Natasha said, "You see why I thought it would be awkward coming from me."

Slowly, Clint nodded.

Then a smile spread across his face and he began to chuckle.

Natasha tensed up.

She had told him that people thought they were sleeping together, he'd had a moment to think about it, and his initial response was to laugh. Like even just the idea of the two of them being more than just friends was ridiculous to him. Like he couldn't understand why anyone would think it was true.

Then she caught herself, and she started laughing too.

She couldn't let him know how she really felt about him. Especially now that it was becoming clear just how ridiculous he found the idea. Instead, she masked her feelings behind false laughter and hoped that he wouldn't realize how heavy her heart felt in her chest.

"That," Clint wheezed after a moment, "is hilarious."

"I know, isn't it?" Natasha had to work hard to hide the bitterness in her voice. "It's utterly ridiculous," she went on severely. "Obviously there's nothing between us – even just the _idea_ is preposterous!"

Clint nodded in agreement, and Natasha had to bite her lip to keep from snapping at him in frustration.

"So," Clint said, changing the subject. "What're you doing?"

Natasha forced away her exasperation with him. "I'm prepping for my session tomorrow."

Clint nodded. Then a mischievous smile stretched across his mouth, and he said, "Oh, right – your _math class."_

He was grinning widely at her, a teasing twinkle in his eye, and a smirk claimed her lips of its own accord as she rolled her eyes. "Barton," she said dryly. "Read my lips: _currency conversion."_

His eyes flicked up to hers, and she realized with a start that he had actually submitted to her facetious order to look at her lips. Even though she knew it meant nothing in terms of his feelings towards her, the realization was still enough to prevent her from responding to his stubborn "Math" with anything more than a derisive sound that was somewhere between a snort and a chuckle.

Then he was rising from his chair, stating his intention to leave.

Natasha looked hurriedly up at him. "Will you be at my currency conversion session tomorrow?"

Clint grinned at her, and she swallowed. "Sure, I'll come to your _math class_ tomorrow," he teased. "How, when and where?"

"Um, at nine-fifteen pm tomorrow. In Conference Room 4b." She was fidgeting under his steady gaze, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Okay. Got it," he said simply. "Catch you later. Nat."

And then he was reaching towards her across the table, and his hand hovered just above the pen that she held poised atop her notebook.

Natasha blinked at the hand. _He… wants my pen?_ Bewildered, she passed him the implement.

Clint chuckled and set her pen down. "No, not that."

Natasha could have kicked herself. _Of course he didn't want my pen! What would he do with it, draw himself a more competent partner? Oh crap, he's going to think I'm such an imbecile…_

"Handshake," Clint was saying calmly. "See?" He extended his hand towards her again.

Natasha hesitated, furrowing her brow. It seemed an odd time for him to shake her hand, so she thought it was best to make sure of what he wanted this time before making a fool of herself again. She tilted her head quizzically at him.

Clint half-lowered his hand

"Uh, the rumor mill has been working hard lately," he explained. "If we don't give them any material, then the rumors'll die out." He reached forward again. "We're just friends, see? Handshake, between friends."

His repetition of the phrase 'just friends' stung her a little, but she understood his point. The 'rumor mill' was working overtime, and they needed to combat the gossip.

She smiled a little, amused by his method, as she rose to her feet.

"Okay," she said quietly. "Handshake it is, Barton."

She slipped her hand into his warm, rough one, and he grasped in firmly.

Natasha worked hard to keep her focus off the way his hand felt around hers, and held his gaze, shaking his hand.

"Agent Barton," she said, with mock solemnity.

"Agent Romanoff." His tone was low and serious, and it gave her pause. She searched his quiet, pensive expression, and found herself wondering what he was thinking.

And then the movement of his thumb across her knuckles made her stomach swoop and she yanked her hand away. She dropped into her chair, hiding her face from his scrutiny, and started scribbling at her page again, mindlessly copying down the names of prospective students.

"Lots to do, Barton," she said vaguely. A moment passed, and she added, "Gotta keep that rumor mill at bay."

 _And what that has to do with the first thing I said, I have no idea._

Her partner cleared his throat, the way she had always found so endearing.

"Definitely," he replied. And then, "I'll see you 'round, Romanoff."

And he was gone.

* * *

 **It pains me to say that I have bad news... again. Apparently I don't know my own schedule, because it turns out I have two weeks of summer camp. :/ I'm going to try to write over the week, though - I won't be able to post daily, but I don't want y'all to have to wait until next Saturday. x)**

 **But anyhow, this chapter was requested by/written for the amazing Little Toruk!,! :D It makes me really happy that you like my writing enough to request more than one chapter, I feel so honored. x) Plus it means this fic lasts longer, which is fine by me! xD (Going to be so sad when I'm done writing it. D:) Anyways, hope this wasn't too boring, and I hope my chapters keep making you smile. :) Thanks for requesting!,!,! :D**


	34. Nat POV9: Step 17

**Little Toruk - YAY. I'm so happy that I made you happy again! xD**

 **Buu22 - YAY YOU'RE BACK. I MISSED YOU. XDD Glad you like it so far!,!**

 **SaphireInTheSky - I know you're pretty far back but when you read to this point, just know that your reviews are like my favorite thing rn. They always make me smile, and one of them made me laugh so hard I had tears coming out of my eyes. x) You are so kind, tysm! :)**

 **Well, I did it again... I accidentally wrote a super long chapter oops. I'm reasonably happy with it though. :)**

* * *

Natasha's session started at nine pm on Monday. She would have preferred for it to be in the morning, mainly because she had a feeling that, by nine, the recruits would be ready to go home, and they probably wouldn't focus as well. But their schedules were apparently full with combat training classes, so Hill had had to improvise. The timing of the session also meant that Natasha would most likely have to work harder to keep the class's attention, but she was sure she could manage.

Natasha headed up to Conference Room 4b a few minutes before nine. As she neared the room, she found that she was feeling rather tense. She wasn't nervous, per se, but she had never led a session or taught a class like this – in fact, it had been a while since she'd even had to speak in front of a group. She was sure everything would be fine, but she still felt a little on edge as she reached the conference room and opened the door.

Hill had arranged to have the conference table moved out, and replaced by roughly a dozen smaller tables which were scattered around the room. A handful of recruits were already present, chatting idly amongst themselves when Natasha entered the room.

A few of them glanced up at her as she headed to the front of the room and stacked her supplies on a small side table. She propped herself onto the edge of said table and began reviewing her notes.

A few minutes passed before heavy footsteps sounded in the hall, and Natasha's head shot up, her pulse inexplicably accelerating. The sound grew nearer, and then a tall student wandered through the door. Natasha's heart dipped.

It took her a moment to recognize the fact that she was subconsciously awaiting Clint's arrival.

She really _couldn't_ get him out of her head could she?

 _Stop thinking about him, Romanoff. Just read your damn notes. He'll get here when he gets here._

…

Several minutes and dozens of false alarms later, Clint still hadn't gotten there.

The classroom was full now, both with students and with chatter, and Natasha had been over her notes multiple times. The hands on her watch were creeping uncomfortably closer to showing ten after nine, and the recruits were starting to shoot puzzled glances in her direction.

Natasha gritted her teeth. Clint was probably running late. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time.

 _Just a couple more minutes. He'll get here._

She heard footsteps nearing the door again, and she looked up hopefully. _It's got to be him this time._

The footfalls reached the door and continued on down the hallway. Natasha sagged in disappointment.

 _Alright, that's enough,_ she told herself sharply. _He must have changed his mind about coming._

Her heart sank lower in her chest. He wasn't coming. It wasn't until then that she realized how much she'd been looking forward to seeing him here – _too_ much, for sure. In fact, she was starting to realize how tiresome the sixty-minute session was going to be if he wasn't here.

And she couldn't help thinking that he could have at least texted her to let her know that he'd decided not to come.

 _Get over it, Romanoff. You need to start the session now._

So she straightened up in resignation, and stepped towards the chalkboard.

Several students fell silent at her movement, watching her, but the majority of the class continued chattering loudly.

Natasha hesitated. _How are you supposed to get a classroom quiet?_

She considered the question a moment, then she turned and picked up the chalk. In large letters, she traced the phrase 'STOP TALKING.' onto the chalkboard. She leaned against the wall and waited.

In the space of thirty seconds, the room gradually quieted as more recruits saw the message. Natasha reflected absently that if anyone else had tried this method, it might not necessarily have been effective, but she could tell by their expressions that most if not all of the recruits were intimidated by her, which worked in her favor in this case.

When the room was silent, Natasha waited a moment. Glancing around the room, she was surprised to see how young some of the recruits were – many of them were nearer to college age, but several of them looked as young as fifteen or even fourteen.

Finally, the spy straightened and began the session.

"Good evening, I'm Agent Romanoff," she said briskly. "I assume you all know who I am, but I don't know who any of you are because this is my first experience with the recruits program. Commander Hill has asked me to lead a session on converting currencies today for SHIELD's new mathematical course, but you won't be seeing me next week."

Natasha shifted her posture and crossed her arms. Every gaze in the room was fixed on her, and she was pleasantly surprised by how well this was going so far.

Granted, she was only about twenty seconds in. But still.

"Currency conversion will be a valuable skill to have when you advance to field agent status. While you're sent on an op, SHIELD will pay for anything you purchase, whether nationally or internationally. When you return from the op, it'll be your job to take account of how much you spent, convert the amounts to American dollars, and file the information so SHIELD can keep track of its balance. So the information I'll be teaching you today is applicable to your future here with SHIELD." Natasha glanced around the room. "Any questions before we get started?"

A kid near the center of the room raised his hand.

Natasha nodded at him. "Yes."

The boy lowered his hand. "Is it true you can kill a man with your thighs?"

Natasha felt the attention level in the room pick up, and her students were suddenly glancing expectantly at her, clearly more interested in this question than in the mathematical skills they were supposed to be learning. The redhead could feel curious gazes being directed toward said lethal thighs as well, and her brow furrowed.

 _So much for being off to a good start._

Rather than sidestep the question and leave her students wondering throughout class when they were supposed to be focusing, Natasha said coolly, "Once I killed a man with my left ear."

The expressions of the recruits changed from curious to worshipful, and some of the older students looked dubious. The kid who had asked the question just stared at her with wide, dazed eyes. _"Bro."_

Natasha glanced around the room. "Any other questions?"

A girl near the back asked, "Why did you kill him?"

Natasha squinted at the girl. "He asked a question without raising his hand first."

The girl blushed.

One of the older students raised his hand, and Natasha gestured to him. "Is it even possible to kill someone with your _ear?"_ he asked, eying her skeptically.

Natasha cast her gaze around the room. "If you don't believe me, I'll be happy to give a demonstration on the next person who asks a question that is _not_ about converting currencies."

No one spoke.

Satisfied, Natasha turned back to the board and began erasing her first message. She had already determined to be as patient with the students as she was able, but if any of them were insubordinate or acted dumb, she sure as hell wasn't going to go easy on them.

Natasha wrote the phrase 'exchange rate' on the board before turning to face the class. "So. Can anyone tell me what an exchange rate is?"

Several hands went up immediately, and just like that, she had the class's attention again.

 _Thank God._

Natasha talked through exchange rates, market exchange rates, and markups. Fortunately, it appeared that some of the students were familiar with the concepts she was discussing, and those who weren't seemed to catch of fairly easily when she explained them.

Several times, Natasha caught herself glancing toward the door. It seemed that Clint was still hanging somewhere in the back of her mind, and she was still semi-consciously expecting him to walk through the door.

 _Stop thinking about him, dammit – he's not coming. Focus on the session._

She spent fifteen minutes or so briefly describing each financial system – she didn't want to spend too much time on this part, as she only had an hour.

"Alright," she said at last. "Now that we understand how the money systems work, we can make a formula. We'll use _d_ as a variable to represent the discrepancy between two currencies, we'll use _h_ and _l_ as the higher and lower exchange rates, and _m_ will be the market exchange rate. Got it?"

The recruits nodded.

Natasha turned to the board and wrote:

 _d_ = 100( _h-l_ / _m_ )

She turned back to the class. "This is the formula we'll be using to convert currencies. And since I have all the variables, I can finish the problem. So I'm going to use this formula to convert fifty pounds into dollars."

She worked quickly through the problem, and came up with 71.31.

Natasha faced her students. "So fifty pounds is about seventy one point three American dollars." She put the chalk away and folded her arms. "Now you're going to try it. Keeping in mind the variables and how they relate to the economical systems on the board—"

She stopped short, her heart thudding. She had heard a footstep in the hall – one that she recognized.

The door opened, and Clint Barton was standing in the doorway.

And suddenly, Natasha knew as much about converting currencies as a stuffed rabbit.

He was _here._ Standing uncertainly in the doorway, glancing around the room at the studious recruits with a bewildered expression on his attractive face. He had a notebook tucked beneath his muscled arm and a pen stuck behind his ear. Late, of course – _hilariously_ late. She should've realized he wouldn't cancel his plans without letting her know.

Then his bright eyes were fixed on hers, and he gave her a look that said _please help me_ more clearly than if he'd said it through a megaphone.

Natasha barely managed to not grin widely at him, despite both her amusement at his tardiness and her delight at his presence.

"Agent Barton." She managed to sound professional and only mildly pleased to see him.

Clint scratched his head. "Uh… hi."

(Why was everything he did so adorable?)

Clint cast a quick glance back down the hall, as if assuring himself that he had an escape route. When he looked back at her, he was giving her that innocent puppy-dog expression that made her knees feel weak.

"Um, I was told there was gonna be a math class here?"

 _Math class._

Natasha gave him a smile that was laced with venom. She could see his eyes laughing at her.

"Yes," she said briskly. "There is a _currency conversion class_ here."

Then she added, "The class is already in session."

 _Yeah, thanks for that, Captain Obvious._

Clint glanced around the room again in mock surprise. "Oh!" She could hear the sarcasm in his tone, and knew he was teasing her for the unnecessary comment.

Then he looked back at her and said, "Someone told me the class started at nine-thirty."

Natasha lifted an eyebrow. "I think you misheard 'Someone'," she said dryly. "'Someone' said _nine."_

Clint gave her that wide-eyed innocent look again. (Dammit – did he even know the effect that had on her?)

"Maybe Someone told me wrong," he teased.

Abstaining from an eyeroll was the hardest thing Natasha had done that day.

She could see hilarity dancing in his eyes, and a mischievous smile spread slowly across his face.

"Someone told you exactly right," Natasha informed him. "You just heard someone wrong."

Clint shrugged. "Well, whichever one," he said. "Can I stick around anyway?"

"Certainly." _Dammit – I said that too fast._

As Clint headed toward the center of the room, Natasha began wracking her brain, trying to remember what she'd been talking about before Clint had appeared. Her mind felt blank now, and she didn't want there to be an awkward eon of silence while she tried to recover her train of thought.

She cleared her throat to end the lengthening quiet.

"Alright, class," she began slowly. "Where were we?"

The students blinked at her.

 _That was not a rhetorical question, you morons, help me out here!_ Clint was obliviously arranging his supplies, and Natasha desperately glanced at the board. _d = 100(h-l/m). That_ was it.

"Oh, right," she said in relief. "Formulas. So, now it's your turn to try out converting currencies. Remember: discrepancy, higher, lower, market." She pointed at each variable as she named the concept associated with it. "And I have the variable equivalences here on the board—"

She halted, sure she had heard the soft hiss of someone whispering. She frowned, glancing around the room, but was unable to identify the culprit.

"Hey, whoever's whispering, please shut up," she said dryly. "You're more than welcome to chat with your friends later. If you even have any friends."

The room had gone silent.

"Thank you," Natasha said. "So! To sum up what we've talked about so far. In order to calculate the percentage discrepancy between two currencies" (She indicated the equation on the board) "you're going to have to subtract the _lower_ exchange rate from the _higher_ one. Take the difference, and divide it by the _market_ exchange rate. Then, to get the _percentage_ markup, multiply the quotient by a hundred." She glanced around the room. "Everyone got it?"

The students nodded.

Natasha was hyper-aware of Clint's presence in the room, but she was trying hard not to look right at him to prevent herself from distraction. Still, she noticed that he didn't nod his head along with the others, and she wondered if he was confused. She decided to help him along a little.

"Good – As you can see," she went on pointedly. "I've already done an example problem _on the board._ Now you're going to do the same thing. We'll start with simple numbers: Use the model on the board to convert twelve pounds to dollars. If you need help with the problem, raise your hand and I'll come help you. Any questions before we start?" She paused. "Okay – get figuring."

Her students immediately bent over their pages and began to write.

…

A younger student near the back of the room raised his hand, and Natasha hastened to his side.

"Mhm?"

"I'm confused between the discrepancy and the market exchange rate," the boy explained meekly.

"Well, let me see." Natasha leaned over his paper to look at the problem. For the past several minutes, she'd been floating around the room, keeping an eye on the recruits and helping them as needed and trying not to stare at Clint. From what she could tell, he seemed to be doing alright – he had studied the writing on the board for a while before digging a new pen out of the supply box, and the last she'd seen, he had been scribbling dutifully at his notebook, oozing diligence and brainpower. Natasha glanced at him again.

She found to her surprise that he was looking directly at her. As soon as she met his bluish eyes, he loosely raised a finger for assistance, a sheepish smile crossing his face. She nodded and turned back to the student.

"Yeah, you just switched the variables I think," she said swiftly. "See? Look at the board." She gestured vaguely towards the front of the room.

The boy squinted at the chalkboard. "Oh, yeah…"

"Is that all?" Natasha added, feeling abnormally impatient.

"Um, wait. So I just put the multiple _here,_ outside the formula?"

Natasha glanced down. "Yeah. Right there." She pointed.

"Okay. Thanks, Agent Romanoff."

"No problem," she muttered, hurrying away.

Clint's back was to her, and his head was ducked over his notebook as he looked at the problem. There was an odd sort of giddiness in her throat as she came up behind him, like any interaction with him, even helping him with arithmetic, was enough to make her smile.

She leaned onto the table on his left, struggling to soften her grin into a smirk as he looked up.

"Something I can help you with?" she teased.

 _Okay, wow, that didn't sound suggestive at all._

Clint just smiled at her, his gaze flicking fondly across her face.

"Uh, yeah," he said after a moment. He turned back to his page. "I did something wrong here, and I can't figure out what it is."

"Let me see," Natasha said briskly, bending over his page. Her hand found the back of his chair as she searched his cluttered page, then she spied his answer. A soft laugh escaped her lips.

 _12 lbs. = $1,627.18_

"My _god_ , Barton," she said, grinning at the equation. "What did you do?" She glanced at him in amusement. His substitution of the avoirdupois pound abbreviation for the British pound sterling sign entertained her just enough that she managed to not get lost in his incredible eyes. For once.

Clint blinked at her. "I don't know." He sounded distracted.

"Hang on, let me look at this." Natasha leaned over his page again, her gaze skimming across the scrawled figures. She was very aware of Clint's proximity and the fact that he was watching her, and she had to read his writings under her breath to keep her attention focused on the problem.

She studied his work from the top down to the bottom of the page, trying to figure out where he had tripped up.

Having already looked at the same problem multiple times on her recruits' paper, Natasha was by now very familiar with the steps of the problem. So it didn't take her long to realize that the numbers he was using further down the page were incorrect. Natasha frowned and dragged her gaze to the top of the page, and then she located the problem.

The formula was _d = 100(h-l/m)_ _._ Clint had written _d =…_

 _Is that a three? No, it might be a two. Or maybe an eight…?_ Natasha squinted, tilting her head at the scribbled character. _It might even be a seven…_

Well, whatever it was, it wasn't two zeros, which was what it should be. Clint had written down the equation wrong to begin with. Natasha smiled and shook her head ruefully, then turned her attention back to her partner.

"Okay," she said. "Okay, I think I figured out what you did." She poked the squiggly digit in the equation. "The formula is—"

She stopped, sure Clint had muttered something under his breath. She glanced at him, and found him looking up at her with something like apprehension in his face.

Natasha raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Mm?"

Clint dropped his head, staring at the tabletop.

Natasha frowned, puzzled. "Did you say something?"

Clint ignored her.

Natasha's frown deepened. _What's up with him?_ She angled her head in an effort to glimpse his face.

"Barton? Is—"

"I said," Clint growled, "you smell good."

Natasha froze.

For a second, she was completely flummoxed, at a loss for what to say or even think.

Then one thought broke through her confusion:

 _Is that really what he's been thinking about this whole time?_

A half-smile edged across her lips as she looked down at him, amused. And a little flattered. He was still scowling hard at his lap, blushing furiously, his fingers fidgeting anxiously on the tabletop. He looked thoroughly ashamed of himself, and Natasha was affected with a sudden desire to wrap her arms reassuringly around his neck.

But, of course, she couldn't do that. Because, lovable idiot that he was, Clint had decided to make his stupid remark in a room full of people. Who she was supposed to be teaching. For a moment, Natasha felt a twinge of exasperation – _Come on, Barton, what happened to keeping the rumor mill at bay?_ – but she couldn't stay angry at him when he was hanging his head and blushing, exuding that Barton attitude of 'kicked puppy'.

Or when it occurred to her that his comment might be a positive indication that he felt something towards her…

Natasha blinked. She was supposed to be teaching. She had withdrawn into her own mind, and the class was waiting on her.

She quickly bent over Clint's work again. "The formula," she began, trying to pick up her train of thought. "It, uh… it says… it wants you to, um…"

 _Great._ Now she was stammering. Because all she could think about was the fact that Clint had noticed the scent of her lotion, and commented on it. And now she was stumbling over her words in front of him, making herself more foolish than he had made himself. She felt warmth climbing up her neck.

A girl on the opposite side of the table snickered. "Look, she's blushing," she said, in a voice that sounded like it was trying to be a whisper but failed.

Soft laughter rippled around the room, and Natasha stopped talking.

How long had the whole class been aware of the exchange between herself and her partner?

The whole time, probably, and she just hadn't noticed. _Super._

She needed to regain their attention. At that meant eliminating the distraction. I.E., Clint.

But just asking him to leave wouldn't be enough, she realized. Based on their behavior at the moment, removing Clint from the room wouldn't be enough to remove the incident from their minds. She needed to demonstrate her authority.

"Okay, you know what?" Natasha spoke stridently, making sure she had her students' attention. She reached into the supply box and dug around until a thumbtack bit her finger.

 _He'll be fine._

She pulled the tack out, and stabbed it down between Clint's thumb and forefinger.

Clint made a strangled noise in his throat, and he looked up at her with a shocked expression.

Natasha looked calmly back at him. "Go to medical."

Based on the total silence in the room, Natasha had the class's attention. Satisfied, she headed to the front of the room, again, and turned to face her students.

"Get back to work."

They did.

Natasha returned to her principle of not looking at Clint as he stood up and left the room.

* * *

 **Um honestly, a lot of people requested this chapter and I don't remember who all did. x) I wasn't going to write it originally because I thought it would be hard, but people kept asking so I decided to, and now I'm so glad I did! So if you requested this, thank you!,! And if you didn't request it, thanks for reading it! xD**


	35. Nat POV10: Step 18

**dans - Omg thank you so so much!,!,! Haha, I'm simultaneously flattered and embarrassed that you went back and read all my stories. xD I feel like I have some really sucky ones near the beginning, but I'm glad you enjoyed them! :D And yeahhh, sorry about that Romanogers fic - I went through a rebellious stage. I have since repented. :P**

 **Sorry about the long wait!,! This chapter was being super troublesome. And, it's getting kindof old to say this, buuuut yeah: I accidentally went waaay over my typical word count again oops. :P I feel like this is at least 80% crap, so please forgive the 'meh' parts and try to enjoy the stronger parts. :)**

* * *

After a full day of work, much of which revolved around the recruits program and giving Hill the rundown on her session, Natasha was ready for bed. She hadn't seen Clint that day, not once, and in light of how their last exchange had ended, she couldn't help wondering if he was avoiding her.

But at the same time, she couldn't blame him for that. She would have liked to see him, because he was _Clint,_ but she also wasn't exactly looking forward to their next meeting.

The last time she'd seen him, he'd told her she smelled good and she'd tacked his hand to a table. It wasn't really a situation she was looking forward to rehashing, but when she saw Clint again, there was no way they wouldn't rehash it at least to an extent. Clint would want to know how she felt about his comment. He'd want to know why she'd tacked his hand to the table. He probably thought she'd been angry with him – which wasn't true, not really.

True, she'd been irked at him for deciding that the middle of her recruits session was a good time to make a dumb comment, and distracting both her and her students. But she wasn't really upset with him. He had just picked the wrong time to pay her a compliment.

Still, she wasn't eager to discuss the incident with him. It had been awkward. And he might want to know why she had gotten flustered and blushed and stumbled over her words, rather than just glossing over the moment like she would have done ordinarily. (If she wasn't in love with him.)

 _Dammit._

It was nearing eleven-thirty when she headed to her room, only to be interrupted by the piping chime of her phone.

A SHIELD alert.

Natasha frowned, switching her phone on. _A notification at eleven-thirty?_ She looked at the alert.

ALL SHIELD AGENTS HQ NY 7+ EMERGENCY CONFERENCE 000

Natasha eyed the message warily. _Emergency conference? That sounds important._

Without wasting another minute, she headed straight for the door.

On the way out to her car, she dialed Hill's number.

"Romanoff?"

"Hill." Natasha slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door. "Call Barton."

"What?"

"Call Barton."

"Why?"

Natasha steered her car out into the street. "He muted his SHIELD alerts for Stark's party on Friday, so he won't know about the meeting."

"And he hasn't unmuted them yet?"

"Not as far as I know. But even if he has, he's probably in bed, and he won't get up for a meeting unless you call him personally."

"Noted," Hill said. "May I ask why you're wanting _me_ to call him, instead of just calling him yourself?"

Natasha gritted her teeth, glowering out the windshield. "Hill, I—" She broke off, unsure how to respond. _'I don't wanna talk to Barton because he told me I smelled good yesterday'. Yeah, that sounds great._

"Romanoff?" Hill's tone had changed. "Is everything alright between you and Barton?"

Natasha squirmed. "Everything's—" She bit off the word 'fine'. What was the point in lying? Hill already knew something was up.

"Been better," she compromised. "But it's fine."

Hill was silent for a moment.

"I'll call Barton," she decided. "And when you get here, I want to speak with you."

"Ten-four," Natasha said, and hung up.

…

It was raining hard when Natasha reached the base. She parked as near to the entrance as she could, in order to be in the downpour for as little time as possible.

The inside of the base was quieter than she'd ever heard it, and more crowded than she'd ever seen it at this hour. She headed for the café, but a quick glance around the room showed her that Clint had not yet arrived. Not surprising, maybe, but still disappointing.

 _Might as well get some coffee while I'm here._

Natasha was just stirring cream into her drink when she heard Hill's voice from across the room.

"Romanoff!"

Natasha turned. Hill was standing in the doorway, sporting her 'game face'. She gestured toward the hall. "Break room."

Natasha nodded, and Hill vanished.

Natasha joined the commander in the break room a few minutes later. Hill was sitting at the table, and she looked up when the spy entered.

"Sit down."

Natasha did. "What's going on?"

Hill took a long breath. "Romanoff, I wanted to talk to you about Barton."

Natasha stiffened. "What about him?" she asked, eying the commander warily.

Hill folded her hands on the table. "There's something wrong between the two of you, isn't there?"

"That's none of your damn business!" Natasha snapped.

Hill raised her eyebrows.

"I'm not asking out of curiosity, Natasha. I'm asking out of concern for you," she said. "You and Barton are so close, and I'd hate to think there was a strain between you. You don't need to give me any details, I'm just asking as a friend."

Natasha sighed and dragged her fingers through her hair. She knew Hill meant what she was saying.

"So is something going on?"

"I don't know," Natasha burst out. "Yes. Maybe. Not really. I mean—" She laughed wryly. "Something _kind of_ happened, during my session yesterday." She paused, and looked Hill in the face. "But believe me when I say that it wasn't a big deal, it just…" She shrugged. "Made me feel awkward about calling him earlier. Which is why I asked you to."

Hill looked thoughtful.

"Well, if interacting with him makes you feel awkward… then maybe you should talk to him about it."

 _Oh, god no._

Natasha scowled. "I kind of thought this conversation would be about the 'emergency' I was summoned here for, not my love life," she commented dryly.

"Romanoff," Hill said, a little sharply. "You won't find three people in this office who put their work before the people they love. It's a lesson you could benefit from."

Natasha took a sip of coffee, still scowling. _She has a point._

Hill exhaled and sat back in her chair. "You look like you could use a break, Romanoff," she remarked at length. "Are you free tomorrow night? I can bring some of the girls down and we can relax and hang out."

Natasha shrugged and nodded. "Sounds good."

Hill looked towards the door. "Barton. There you are."

Natasha's heart jumped, and she shot a glance at the door as Hill stood up. Before she returned her gaze to her coffee cup, she caught a glimpse of her partner standing in the doorway – again, she'd missed his approach.

 _I should really start closing that door so I can tell when people come in…_

"What's going on?" Clint's deep voice asked.

Natasha took a sip of coffee, to give the impression that she wasn't riveted even by just his voice.

"Okay?" Clint said in response to something Hill had said, which Natasha had somehow completely missed.

"I need to go talk to Fury," Hill was saying. "Would you keep Natasha company for a couple minutes?"

Natasha froze, staring at her coffee in horror. _What the heck… Hill, remind me to kill you later._

Clint cleared his throat. "Uh… sure."

"Thank you. It'll just be until the meeting starts." Hill left the room, closing the door behind her.

Natasha's coffee cup remained the object of her intense scrutiny after Hill left. She could feel Clint watching her quietly, and she tried not to fidget under his gaze.

 _Should I… I don't know. Say hello…?_

Clint started forward, and then he was sliding into the seat across from her without speaking. Natasha bit her lip, trying to work up the courage to speak to him, and more importantly, trying to work out what she would even say to him.

A few minutes dragged by.

 _Just say something, dammit! He's your partner, and you made this way more awkward than it had to be by putting off talking for so long!_

"How's your hand," Natasha blurted out.

She saw Clint look up at her, but she kept her eyes trained on her mug.

"Chill," Clint said after a moment.

 _Great. We've exchanged words. Now what?_

Several quiet seconds ticked by.

Then Clint took a slow breath. "About yesterday…"

"I wasn't mad," Natasha cut in hastily. She had known the rehash would come at some point, and her goal was to breach the subject, then move on as quickly as possible.

Clint paused. "Then why…?" From the corner of her eye, Natasha saw him brandish his left hand at her. She caught a flash of white, and realized that his injury had been bandaged.

"To get the class under control," she explained. Then she glanced up, finally meeting his grayish blue eyes. "Remove the distraction," she added.

 _'_ _Distraction' really is an accurate description of Clint. In many ways._

 _Focus, dammit._

"But…" Clint shifted in his seat. "That thing I said—"

"—was stupid," Natasha admitted. "But… I wasn't mad."

Clint tilted his head, regarding her thoughtfully. Natasha ducked her head self-consciously, absentmindedly skimming her fingertips around the rim of her cup.

"Surprising," Clint remarked at length.

Natasha squirmed a little, biting her lip. _So… can I go now…?_

She made up her mind, and quickly left the room.

Agents were already starting to convene in the conference room, and Natasha joined them.

"Did you talk to him?" Hill was at her side.

Natasha shrugged. "We had a conversation."

"And?"

She shook her head. "Things aren't much better."

Hill fell quiet. She seemed about to make a suggestion, then she sighed. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that."

The commander moved away.

"Alright," Fury was saying. "I think we're about ready to get started here."

Everyone started moving to the long conference table. Natasha hesitated and glanced toward the break room. Clint was still in there, and he had no idea the meeting was starting.

 _Great._

Morse was heading past her towards the table, and Natasha managed to get her attention.

"Hey, would you mind grabbing Barton for me? He's in the break room."

Morse complied, and hurried off.

Yet another encounter with him that she'd avoided. Good.

Natasha knew she should stop shunning her partner. And she would.

But for now, a little distance might be good. And not just because she felt awkward, although that was part of it.

Another big issue was how disgustingly transparent she was becoming in terms of her feelings for him. She had determined not to let on how she felt about him until she received some kind of indication that he felt the same about her, but now it felt like every time she saw him, she was a mess of stammering and blushing, she couldn't look him in the eye, and she was constantly having to stop herself from ogling his biceps.

A little space might be good right now.

Natasha found a spot near the head of the table and sat down next to Antoine Triplett. It wasn't long before she became aware of Clint entering the room, and then he took a seat at the far end of the table, out of her line of vision. Probably good for her concentration.

Fury stood up at the head of the table, and the room quieted.

"I'm gonna start by making sure everyone here is familiar with the HYDRA attacks that went down a couple weeks ago," the director stated. "There were several unwarranted attacks on SHIELD agents that died out after a week or so. Several bases were targeted, and we didn't know why. Well, we just found out why."

Fury went on to explain that with each attack came a petty theft, and with each theft, HYDRA was acquiring samples of the DNA of SHIELD agents. Using this DNA, they were able to create masks with nanotechnology that matched the faces of SHIELD agents, and, with stolen SHIELD equipment, HYDRA launched an attack on CIA. Due to the SHIELD equipment, and sightings of well-known SHIELD agents, CIA believed it was attacked by SHIELD.

 _All this time, while we thought they were attacking randomly, HYDRA was destroying SHIELD from the inside out._

"Now the World Security Council and United Nations are getting involved, and it's getting ugly," Fury was saying. And then, "They're talking about shutting down SHIELD."

Instantly, the room was in an uproar.

Amid the enraged shouts of "What!" and "That's not fair!", Natasha distinctly heard Clint's voice say, "I just wanna go back to bed!"

Fury held up his hands. "One at a time, _please._ Mayer."

And then the suggestions began. It seemed that everyone at the table had a different opinion on the matter, and everyone thought that their idea was the best. Natasha sat back in her chair, frowning critically as she listened to the agents state their opinions, growing more and more heated as they went until they had nearly circled back to shouting at Fury.

And then suddenly, Clint could be heard yelling above the commotion.

 _"_ _Just hold a conference!"_

The room quieted, and every head turned towards the archer. Natasha craned her neck to see him, but he was sitting at the same side of the table as her, on the far end, so there were too many heads in the way.

Fury spoke. "Agent Barton?"

"Some smug self-righteous SOB's think SHIELD should be nixed. We _don't_ think SHIELD should be nixed," Clint replied. "Hold a conference. Hash it out."

"You mean like a debate?" Hill spoke up.

"Sure, a debate."

Fury looked skeptical. "I'm not convinced that's the wisest course of action… that would be backing ourselves into a corner," he pointed out. "If we lose, SHIELD will be shut down. At least right now we have an option."

"Yeah, we do – so we should take the straightforward option," Clint answered. "The way I see it… if SHIELD goes into hiding, it's just a matter of time before UN sniffs us out and drags us into court. If we go to court _now,_ we'll be more prepared, _and_ it'll look better. All cards on the table."

 _Damn good point._

If Fury and Hill's brief moment of eye contact was any indication, they thought so, too. Fury glanced around the table.

"Does anyone have a problem with this idea?"

Naturally, no one did. Fury stroked at his chin.  
"Well… it's not a _terrible_ thought. It does require further thought, though. We'll have to talk to the other Level Tens before we come to a decision," he said. "For now, though. I think that's our best option."

Hill nodded in agreement.

"Well, unless anyone else has an idea, I think we'll conclude now," Fury stated. "We'll give Agent Barton's scheme some thought, and get back with you all as quickly as we can. Thank you."

Agents all around the table started standing and making their way towards the door. Triplett turned to Natasha with a doubtful expression.

"I'm not so sure about this whole debate idea," he remarked skeptically.

Natasha tilted her head. "Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, don't you think it looks a little cocky?" he replied. "We might give a better impression if we wait until they schedule a meeting, that way it won't seem like we're trying to cause trouble."

"I disagree," Natasha said immediately. "I think it's best if SHIELD looks confident. We have nothing to hide, and no reason to shy away from a meeting. Waiting might look suspicious, whereas this will make us look more in-control."

"Hm." Triplett nodded thoughtfully. "But there's another thing. All protocols aside, do we even stand a chance? I mean, they're the United Nations, for god's sake, I think if they want to get rid of us, they will."

Natasha shook her head. "They can't make us step down by sheer force," she pointed out. "That's abuse of power, there's no way they could get away with that."

Triplett frowned. "But if UN makes the rules, who's to even say what qualifies as abuse of power?"

"But they _don't_ make the rules," Natasha replied. "UN is still held to a code, they still have boundaries and accountability in the government. They'll have to deal with this fairly, or not at all."

Triplett had a few more concerns about Clint's scheme, and Natasha did her best to answer them. By the time she'd abated the majority of his worries, she realized that the conference room was mostly empty. Fury and Hill were just heading out, and the only person left was… Clint.

Natasha swallowed. Maybe she should wait till he left before she did – that would save them any awkward conversation that might ensue.

"Well," Triplett was saying. He shifted in his seat. "It's getting pretty late, and—"

"Wait, don't you have any other questions?" Natasha asked hurriedly.

Triplett frowned. "None that I can think of…"

"Tell me about work," Natasha urged.

Triplett gave her a strange look. "Okay…"

 _Great, now he's going to think I'm into him._

Natasha was able to keep up a conversation with the field agent for several more minutes. She observed her partner from the corner of her eye, but he remained in his seat the entire time.

Nearly a half hour had passed since the meeting ended when the archer finally stood up and left the room.

Natasha exhaled. "Well, I should probably go now," she said quickly, getting to her feet.

"Okay," Triplett said. "See you when I see you."

Natasha nodded and hurried into the hall.

On the way out to her car, it occurred to her that she could have saved a lot of time by simply leaving herself rather than waiting for Clint to leave – they still wouldn't have had to speak to each other anyway.

 _Full marks, Romanoff._

By the time Natasha reached her car, she was determined to stop avoiding Clint as she had been doing all day. The best way to get past awkward moments was to just act as though nothing had happened, which she would ordinarily have done, if her feelings toward Clint had been less intense and confusing. He was her best friend, though, and she should stop blocking him out.

She was pulling towards the road, when she heard a shout from behind her. Frowning, she glanced into the rearview mirror, and her pulse hiccupped when she saw Clint running towards her across the parking lot, waving his arms wildly.

 _What the—_

Natasha hit her brakes and shoved her door open. She stepped out into the rain as Clint skidded to a stop in front of her, panting hard, grabbing her car for support.

"What's wrong?" Natasha asked swiftly, her pulse rate still rising. "Is someone hurt? Was there another attack? Barton, what happened?"

Clint lifted a finger, signaling her to hold her jumbled line of questioning until he had his breath. Natasha shut her mouth, abashed.

"No," Clint gasped finally. "I just… forgot to say goodbye."

Natasha stared at him.

 _What the hell is going on? He isn't usually this intense about his goodbyes. Is something wrong? Something must be wrong._

And then something in Clint's expression changed, and Natasha froze.

He pushed off her car and straightened, his gaze flicking seriously across her face. Rain was falling steadily around them; Natasha's hair was already soaked, and Clint's wet shirt clung to his torso.

He took a step closer, and Natasha forgot to breathe for a second.

 _"_ _Tasha."_

Maybe nothing was wrong.

Maybe something was very, very right.

And then Clint was reaching towards her, gazing forcefully at her—

And then he stopped.

Natasha blinked at him. He stood still, looking quietly at her with his hand outstretched.

Natasha looked down at his hand. And that was when it hit her.

 _Handshake,_ he'd said on Sunday, holding out his hand. _Between friends. If we don't give them any material, then the rumors will die out. We're just friends, see?_

Natasha's heart fell into her stomach. Of course. He didn't want to be anything more than friends. He didn't even want people to _think_ they were more than friends. For a second she had thought… well, she wasn't sure what she had thought.

But she sure as hell hadn't been expecting a handshake.

 _Roll with it, just roll with it, he can't know…_

His left hand still hung in the air between them, and Natasha said, "It's right."

Clint's brow creased. "Right _what_ , now?"

"Hand," she replied. "You use the right hand for handshakes."

Clint blinked at her. Natasha blinked back at him. A wet, single-figured, passive-aggressive assassin Morse code for idiots which had no meaning.

"I… know…" Clint said vaguely. "I was just, uh… waving…"

Natasha squinted at him. Suddenly, this didn't seem like just another attempt to check the rumor mill. He seemed so uncomfortable all of a sudden, and now he was giving her the most hilariously forced grin and waving at her, actually _waving_ at her. From roughly two feet away.

Had he been… about to kiss her?

The thought struck her suddenly. That would explain his haste to stop her from leaving. His expression, his tone, his movements.

What if her comment about handshakes had thrown him off?

Well, it was a theory. One that could be tested.

Maybe he could use some encouragement.

Natasha listed her head and stared, very obviously, at his lips. She let her gaze linger there for a moment, then locked eyes with him again, waiting to see if he would take the hint.

Clint's Adam's apple bobbed nervously, and he took a step back.

"See ya later," he stammered; then he turned and all but ran to his car.

Natasha stared after him, horrified. _I am such an idiot, I am SUCH an idiot!_ She'd been wrong, of course she had – Clint hadn't been about to kiss her; he didn't even _want_ to kiss her. And now she had scared him away and given him an incredibly obvious hint that she was interested in him.

 _Chertov._

Well, it couldn't be helped now.

Natasha slid back into her car and slammed the door. She found herself looking forward to Maria's proposed party. She was going to need a distraction, she was going to need to hang out with her girlfriends.

And, most importantly, she was going to need alcohol.

* * *

 **Annnd I feel like this is another one of those that was requested by several people. x) Thank you, whoever requested it - it was freaking TOUGH to write, but I'm actually happy that I wrote it, because it was good practice for me to have to push through challenging spots. :) And it ended up being really nice to see what Nat was thinking here, so thanks again for asking for this one!,!**

 **Sadly, I'm not anticipating being able to post tomorrow. :(( I hate to say that after you guys had to wait so long, but I have an appt tomorrow morning... and also, I'm considering splitting the next Step into 2 separate chapters - it's the girl party one, and it will probably end up being too long, but I won't know until I finish. Sooo, it could be a few days before I post again - I'll try really hard though, because my goal is to finish this story in early July.**

 **Thanks for reading!,!**


	36. Nat POV11: Step 19a

**Liv - Thank you so much, love! That really means a lot, because I'm trying (and occasionally failing) to make the action seem fresh each time, even though the readers already know what's coming. So I really appreciate that! :)**

 **Ilessthan3KH - AH tysm!,! That is so encouraging honestly, and I really hope this chapter lives up to your expectations! x)**

 **So, this one's closer to my normal chapter length, so in light of how long they've been getting lately, it may feel short. :P I'm a little unsure again - I think this chapter has its ups and downs. :/**

 **Hope you enjoy it though! :)**

* * *

It wasn't until after dinner the following day that Maria Hill, as she had promised, brought a small party to Natasha's house.

She showed up around eight-thirty with Bobbi Morse, Melinda May, Pepper Potts, and Sharon Carter. Natasha had made an effort to look presentable, and was prepared for the visit with a 12-pack of Samuel Adams. Her friends clambered into her kitchen barstools and, before long, both alcohol and chatter were flowing freely.

Just as Natasha had hoped, her friends' presence proved to be a good distraction from everything that was going on between herself and Clint. Once or twice he flitted briefly through her thoughts, but for the most part, she was able to keep her mind off him, which was a welcome change from her constant thoughts about him lately.

Unsurprisingly, the women's discussion soon turned towards HYDRA's movements, and Clint's suggested conference, which had apparently been officially approved by SHIELD.

"Yeah, it's definitely confirmed now," Maria was saying. "Victoria Hand and Noelle Walters said they're gonna be there, and now I'm trying to get Anne Weaver interested. This isn't really her division, but I thought it'd make a good impression to have someone from the Academy there, since this is affecting all of SHIELD."

"Anne Weaver… Oh, is she the one from Science and Technology?" May asked.

Maria nodded, taking a swallow of beer. "Mhm. She's a good speaker."

"You don't think it'd be better to have someone from Ops?" Sharon suggested.

"We thought about it, but we decided Sci-Tech would make the best impression," Hill replied. "Ops has the highest percentage of washouts in the academy, and Comms… Well, you know Comms. Sci-Tech's elite, and it has a better success rate."

"When's it set for?" Pepper asked.

"Tomorrow, 1300," Maria answered. "Fury's talking about getting the Supreme Court building. We'll see how that goes."

Thoughtful silence hung in the air for a few seconds as the friends sipped their beer.

Then Bobbi set down her drink and said, "Okay, enough about work. Let's talk about Barton."

The attention level in the room suddenly rose, and Natasha found herself on the receiving end of five curious gazes.

 _Oi, der'mo._

She took a slow pull at her beer bottle, trying to look casual. "What about him?"

"You know what about him," Sharon responded. "Whatever it is that's been going in between the two of you!"

Natasha examined the tiny, conceited-looking man on the Samuel Adams logo. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb, Romanoff," May ordered. "We all know about the rumors that were going around."

"Oh, _that."_ Natasha laughed in relief. "Look, a rumor's a rumor. It doesn't mean anything."

"But all rumors have to start _somehow,"_ Pepper pointed out. "And a lot of times, they're based on fact."

"So are you interested in him?" Sharon asked.

Natasha hesitated. Until this moment, she'd been relieved at the chance to get her mind off of Clint. She still felt that way, but at the same time, she had to admit that the prospect of discussing her feelings with her girlfriends did have its appeal.

"I'd… prefer not to talk about this…" she began uncertainly.

"Of _course_ she's interested in him," Bobbi cut in. "Every woman at work is interested in him – and not just the women, actually."

"Well, to be fair, who _wouldn't_ be," May remarked, "with abs like his."

A general buzz of agreement passed through the other women. Natasha took a huge gulp of beer.

"That's true, he does have very nice abs," Sharon concurred.

"I'm in a very happy relationship, and even _I_ have to admit that he has nice abs," Pepper agreed.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, feigning amusement. "Look, do you mind if we talk about something other than Clint's abs?"

"She's right, ladies," Maria spoke up. "Enough is enough."

 _"_ _Thank you."_

"Let's talk about his arms instead," said Maria.

 _"_ _NO."_

"Ohh, that's true, he _does_ have good arms," Pepper said. "Doesn't he, Nat?"

Natasha swallowed. "I… hadn't noticed…"

"No, he does," Bobbi agreed. "Have you ever seen him in the archery range? You know how his shoulders look when he _pulls_ back the arrow and _releases_ it?"

Natasha groaned. She knew _exactly_ how his shoulders looked. "Shut _up…"_

"And his biceps? They're honestly mesmerizing," Sharon added.

"Mesmerizing, that's true." May nodded approvingly at Sharon. "Good word."

Natasha scowled at her beer bottle. She knew what her friends were doing – they were going to keep tormenting her until she admitted how she felt about Clint. And she was getting uncomfortably close…

"Morse, you've dated him, right?" Pepper asked.

"Oh, that's right, you did!" May said, as Morse nodded. With a sideways glance at Natasha, May added, "How is he at kissing?"

Natasha rolled her eyes and lifted her beer bottle to her lips, pretending disinterest.

"Clint is an _amazing_ kisser," Bobbi said earnestly. "He's good with his hands… always uses just the right amount of tongue—"

Natasha choked on her beer.

"Morse," she said weakly. "Cut it out."

She saw some of her friends exchange gleeful glances – they could tell she was close to confessing.

"What about in bed?" May went on. "Or did you ever get to that point with him?"

 _"_ _Don't. Answer. That question,"_ Natasha said severely, as Morse opened her mouth. Five pairs of eyes fastened hopefully on the assassin, and she sighed.

"Fine. Yes. I love him. Happy?"

Her friends were grinning at her.

"More like, ecstatic," Hill replied.

"Nat, that's wonderful!" Pepper said. "I always knew you were into him, but I didn't realize you were actually in love with him!"

Natasha half-smiled. It _did_ feel nice to tell them.

"Is it a mutual thing?" Sharon asked.

Natasha shook her head. "I really don't know. I wish I did," she added bitterly.

"Well, give us more information," Hill coaxed, folding her hands. "How does he act towards you?"

"Um…" Natasha squinted, trying to think. "Well… I guess there was that one day where he kept sort of... brushing up against me, kicking me under the table, that kind of thing."

"Footsie?" Sharon asked.

Natasha frowned. "Not exactly. At the time I thought it was because he was pissed at me, but I could've been wrong. And then there _was_ this time when we were sparring and he was having trouble getting into his stride… But that could've been a fluke."

"What else?" Pepper asked eagerly.

Natasha pursed her lips. "Well, he _did_ get me Strela… and after I got drunk at Stark's party, he was acting really concerned about me… _Oh."_ A memory struck her, and she felt her cheeks grow warm. She laughed awkwardly and looked at the floor.

"He did sort of say – that is, at my session, he was there and he – well, I was standing really close to him, and he sort of said… that I smelled good?"

 _"_ _What?"_ Sharon exploded. "Romanoff! Rule of thumb: if a guy notices how you _smell,_ he's definitely into you!"

"But would he _tell_ her," May mused. "That's what I'm wondering. I mean, a guy might _notice_ how his crush smells, but he probably wouldn't comment on it, because those types of observations can come off as creepy."

Natasha paused. "So… what does that mean?" she asked. It felt odd to be the one asking for help. But she had no experience with love, and her friends did, so it made sense to ask their advice.

May narrowed her eyes. "I don't know… Continue."

Natasha crossed her arms, shrugging. "I don't know, I think that's about it. I mean, I guess last Friday he _did_ sort of pin me down and tickle me to death—"

 _"_ _What!"_ This time the exclamation came from all five of her friends, and Natasha froze.

"What?" she asked doubtfully.

 _"'_ _Pinned you down'?"_ Sharon repeated.

 _"'_ _Tickled you'?"_ Bobbi added.

"Yes…?" Natasha said, squinting at them.

Her friends gaped at her.

"Are you blind?" May said. "Natasha, Clint likes you."

Natasha blinked. "What?—No, he was just teasing me I think… I mean, we were just chatting, and he started touching my leg—"

 _"_ _WHAT!"_ all five of them yelled again.

"Romanoff," Hill said sharply. "You may have never been in love, but you've at least been on enough seduction missions to know that touching the leg is a romantic gesture!"

"She's right, Nat," Pepper agreed.

Maybe they had a point. Natasha furrowed her brow, trying to remember exactly how it had happened.

"I don't know," she said dubiously. "I mean, for _me_ , obviously, it was…" She faltered, unsure how to describe the tingly thrills she had felt while he was tickling her, and the feeling in her stomach at the touch of his warm hands. She cleared her throat and moved on. "…but for him, I mean, he knows I hate being tickled, so I think he was just being an asshole."

"Romanoff, it's a generally known fact that boys act like assholes to girls they like," Sharon said.

"Yeah, in _kindergarten,"_ May cut in dryly. "Look, Romanoff, the point is that physical contact of _any_ kind is a big indicator. So if Clint 'pinned you down and tickled you', he was basically waving a flag in your face that said 'Hey Nat, date me.'"

"Alright, alright, hold off on the wedding invitations," Natasha said sarcastically. "I've been telling you about things that make me think he _is_ into me, but there have been things that make me think he _isn't_ , too. Like once, when I thought he'd been attacked, I hugged him and he just kind of stood there."

Bobbi grimaced. _"Oh."_

"And when he heard the rumors about us, he started laughing and said, and I quote, 'That is hilarious,'" Natasha said indignantly.

Hill took in her breath. "Yikes."

"Not to mention how far away from me he sat at the meeting last night; so don't start giving me baby name suggestions just yet," Natasha said wryly. "I've been getting mixed signals."

There was a pensive silence.

Then Hill said, "Well, the next time you'll see him is at the conference tomorrow, right?—So maybe something will change then."

Natasha shrugged. "Maybe."

Another moment passed, then Sharon said, "Well, I hate to break up this party, but I really need to head home now. Fury has me making all these preparations for that debate tomorrow, so I should really get a head start on that."

The others expressed their disappointment as Sharon slid from the barstool.

"Thanks for the beer, Romanoff. I'll see you guys," she said, before heading out the door.

After she was gone, Pepper leaned forward onto the counter and took another sip of beer. "So, where are you right now, Nat? In terms of Clint, that is."

Natasha shrugged, crossing her arms. "Really, I'm just taking my cue from him. I don't know how he feels about me, so I'm kind of waiting for a hint on that, I guess."

"What kind of hint?" Bobbi asked.

Natasha shrugged again. "I don't know… I just don't want to risk our friendship, so I want to know how _he_ feels before I act on _my_ feelings."

"Well, if you really want to know how he feels about you," May said mischievously, "a kiss on the mouth is a good test."

The others laughed, and Natasha joined in, albeit blushingly. "I'll keep it in mind," she joked.

There was a knock at the door.

"Sharon must have forgotten something," Pepper mused, as Natasha started for the hall.

"Hey, if it's Barton making a booty call, let us know and we'll leave!" Hill called after her.

Natasha started laughing. "Got it, thanks," she called back sarcastically.

She was still laughing when she opened the door and found herself face-to-face with Clint Barton.

* * *

 **Annnd I think this was actually the chapter I got the most requests for! It was a blast to write, I just really really hope it was okay! xP I'll try my hardest to get the next part out tomorrow.**

 **Also, if my May seems out of character, this story takes place before Bahrain. Which, again, does not fit with the canonical timeline... shhh. x) There isn't really an MCU timeline that fits with this story, but that's okay, right? After all: Time, from a nonlinear, nonsubjective viewpoint, is more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly, timey wimey stuff. ;)**


	37. Nat POV12: Step 19b

**The Gothic Geek - Thank you! And highfive for catching that Whovian reference! x)**

 **Jenna - Wow! Thank you so much! It's reviews like that one that keep me inspired to work on this story, that really means a lot to me. :)**

 **Mockingjay500 - Aww yay! I'm so glad that chapter made you happy! x) And thanks for saying, that because I was a little unsure about it myself so I was really encouraged by that. :)**

 **Actually pretty happy with how this turned out. Hope you guys enjoy it! ^-^**

* * *

Natasha froze. Clint was standing just outside her door, hands in his pockets, head tipped on its side as his bright eyes searched her face. The shirt he was wearing was light blue and rather snug, and suddenly all Natasha could think about was her friends' comments about his amazing abs.

She swallowed.

"Hi." The single syllable felt awkward on her tongue.

Clint simply nodded in reply. His bluish eyes were still fixed on her; he seemed more inclined at the moment to study her than to make conversation.

Natasha leaned against the doorframe.

"What's going on?"

Clint rocked back on his heels. "I'm here for the kitten."

Natasha reflected vaguely that it should be illegal for Clint's deep, masculine voice to pronounce the word 'kitten'.

Clint's forehead wrinkled. "It… _is_ my day… right?"

Natasha frowned thoughtfully. "Mm, I think so."

Clint ran his fingers absentmindedly through his light hair. Natasha took a huge swallow of beer.

There was a noisy explosion of laughter from her guests, and Clint's eyes flicked toward the kitchen.

"Oh, sorry," he said after a moment. "Is this a bad time?"

Natasha started, realizing he was about to offer to leave and she didn't want him to. "Oh – oh, no, it's fine, sorry, come in," she stammered, tugging the door open.

Clint nodded and stepped inside.

Natasha led the way to the kitchen rather hesitantly. _I swear, if any of them make any kind of comment…_

She came around the corner and cleared her throat, interrupting their light chatter.

"Barton's here." She let a threatening note slip into her voice, subtly warning them to watch what they said.

Her friends turned around, and their faces cracked into four mischievous grins.

 _Der'mo._

"Clint!" "Hey, Barton!" "How great to see you!" "Come sit down!"

Clint blinked, looking surprised at the enthusiastic welcome, but started forward as Natasha crossed her arms and very obviously rolled her eyes.

"He doesn't come here for Girls' Night," she informed them warningly. And then, "He's not staying long."

She fixed each of her friends with a fierce scowl behind Clint's back, but they ignored her.

Clint shot her a quick glance, and she quickly rearranged her features.

"But he can have a beer, right?" May waved a glass bottle at them.

Natasha shrugged in resignation. "Yeah, 'course."

 _If they so much as wink at him…_

She stalked into the kitchen and leaned back against the counter, as Clint was handed a beer bottle and beckoned into the barstool she had vacated.

"So, what brings you here, Barton?" Hill asked at length. With half a glance at Natasha, she added, _"Duty calls…_ something like that?"

 _'Booty calls'._ Warmth rushed to Natasha's face, and she huffed loudly. _"Hill,"_ she snapped. She glared at the commander, who responded with a beatific smile.

"He's just here for my kitten," Natasha added, boosting herself onto the counter. _Gosh._ She took a long drag at her beer.

Bobbi looked innocently at her. "Oh, he's here for your pussy?"

Natasha choked on her beer.

Some of her drink burned its way down her windpipe, and she was reduced to coughing uncontrollably, hiding her mouth behind her fist. Her eyes were watering, and it was through a blur of cough-induced tears that she saw her friends smothering gleeful grins.

 _I hate you guys._

Clint was watching her with a bemused, slightly concerned expression, and Natasha struggled to overcome the coughing fit.

 _Why does every stupid thing I do have to happen when he's around?_

"You know," Hill said, as Natasha's coughing began to subside. "We were just talking about you before you walked in."

 _Oh hell no._ Natasha tried to interrupt, but her windpipe was still irritated and all that came out was another cough.

Clint looked at Hill. "Me?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"Yeah," May spoke up, glancing impishly at Natasha. _"Nat_ brought you up."

Clint's warm gaze shifted to her again. Natasha gritted her teeth and concentrated on giving May the most vengeful glower she could muster.

"She… did?" Clint asked doubtfully.

"Yeah, she did," Pepper cut in brightly. "We were just talking about your _great idea_ at the conference last night!"

Natasha shot her a grateful look. _At least_ one _of them's on my side…_

"Yeah," Bobbi was saying, leaning pensively onto her elbow. "Nat was just talking about how you just _pulled_ that idea out of nowhere and just _released_ it in front of all those people like it was no big deal. It takes a _strong man_ to do that," she added pointedly. "Right, Nat?"

The conceited-looking figure on the Samuel Adams logo became the object of Natasha's scrutiny for the second time that day. Maybe if she stared at his abysmal haircut long enough, she would be able to stop picturing Clint in the shooting range, the muscles in his strong shoulders tightening as he slowly pulled back the bowstring to release an arrow…

"Oh, well thanks," Clint was saying. "It just seemed kind of obvious to me."

"It's a great idea," May replied. "I'd almost call it… mesmerizing."

Natasha's mind was instantly flooded with images of Clint's 'mesmerizing' biceps. She could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on her, and she transferred her intense examination from Samuel Adams to her fingernails. They were starting to look a little rough, she should probably get a manicure before the conference tomorrow…

Pepper briskly cleared her throat. "You know, Clint, they really _are_ going to use your suggestion."

 _I love you, Pepper._

"They are?" Clint was saying.

"They've fixed it with the UN," Pepper continued. (Natasha finally summoned the courage to lift her head.) "The conference is tomorrow, at the Supreme Court Building."

"Tomorrow?" Clint raised his eyebrows. "That was fast."

"I guess they wanted to get on your idea as quickly as possible," Pepper replied.

"That's really, really smart," Bobbi spoke up. "They're doing it right away. They're doing Clint's thing as quickly as possible. Good advice."

 _Blyad._

Natasha's face was hot as she sprang to her feet. "Okay, you know what, we are going to get the kitten. Barton?"

She stalked into the bedroom.

Strela was asleep in her bed. Natasha took a deep breath, composing herself as she crossed the room and knelt down next to the kitten.

Clint stepped into the room a moment later. He hovered in the doorway for a moment, then strode across the room and knelt down on her right.

Natasha kept her eyes trained carefully on Strela, to keep herself from getting distracted. "She sleeps most the time," she informed her partner. "Just feed her three to four times a day. She eats wet cat food. It's in the carrier. Here." She retrieved a few cans and slid them towards him without looking at him.

Clint picked up the cans. "Anything else I should know?"

Natasha shook her head. There was a silence.

"Okay. We have to put her in the carrier now. She'll wake up," Natasha said, more to fill the silence than anything else. She reached forward and pet Strela's head with her finger. "Okay, baby," she murmured (to Strela, not to Clint). "You gotta get up now. Okay?"

Strela shifted and flicked an ear. Then she yawned, and her blue eyes blinked sleepily. She stretched, and Natasha smiled fondly.

Clint chuckled softly, stirring beside Natasha. She glanced at him, and found his face mere inches away, his spectacular eyes fastened on her.

And instead of feeling uncomfortable or shy under his gaze the way she had so often lately, Natasha felt a warm rush of affection, so strong that her chest ached.

She loved him so damn much, it was insane. She couldn't think about anything else when he was around, yet she didn't even know how he felt about her.

And then May's words flashed unbidden through her mind: " _Well, if you really want to know how he feels about you, a kiss on the mouth is a good test."_

And suddenly, screw taking her cue from him, screw waiting for a hint; she would take May's advice and kiss him.

He was already so close to her, and it was all too easy for her to move in, getting rid of those leftover inches of air between them. She could see his eyes widening as she drew nearer, she could see him shifting towards her, she could see his hand moving to hold the side of her face, and then—

 _No._

It was all too easy for her to move in, but she didn't. She could see his eyes widening, his posture shifting, his hand moving, she could see it all clearly in her mind's eye; but it wasn't happening, she wouldn't let it happen.

She was in love with Clint, but he didn't necessarily feel the same way. And if she acted on her feelings when he didn't return them, what then? It could potentially ruin their friendship; and if there was one thing on earth she would never risk, it was Clint's friendship.

Natasha tore her eyes away from Clint's face and looked at Strela instead. Strela was blinking her round eyes calmly at them, and Natasha's attention finally slid off of kissing Clint and locked onto the job at hand: getting Strela in the carrier.

"Ready to go?" she asked the kitten. She slid the cat food into the back of the carrier, then carefully lifted the small bed and slipped it in as well. She was very aware of Clint' gaze on her, and was locking the carrier when Clint's voice speaking her name made her freeze.

She turned to look at him, relieved that there was a little more distance between them now.

Clint tilted his head towards the door. "What was…?"

Natasha looked at the door. It took her a second to piece together what he was referring to: her friends' suggestive comments in the kitchen.

 _"Oh._ That?" Natasha laughed awkwardly. She could feel the beginnings of a blush on her face, and she quickly turned her head away on the pretense of double-checking the carrier locks.

"Nothing," she said after a moment. "They were just teasing me."

 _Well, that part was true, anyway._

Natasha got to her feet and lifted the car carrier. "Ready?"

Clint nodded and stood, leading the way to the door.

They passed through the kitchen on the way out. Natasha's guests called out their goodbyes, and tossed a few meaningful glances that fortunately seemed to go unnoticed by Clint.

The two of them stepped out into the hall, and Natasha pulled the door to.

"Here." She held the carrier towards her partner. Clint's fingers brushed past hers on the handle as he took it.

"See you tomorrow." Natasha turned away, simultaneously disappointed and relieved to be saying goodbye.

"Wait. Nat."

Natasha froze. There was something in his tone that made her pulse speed up, and she turned to face him expectantly.

Clint had set down the cat carrier, and now he was gazing at her with sudden intensity in his blue-gray eyes. He took a slow step toward her, and her breath caught in her throat.

Then Clint moved forward, his hands lifting toward her, and then he was right in front of her, his arms slipping around her waist.

Natasha went rigid with surprise as Clint tugged her closer, pressing her to his warm chest.

 _Is he hugging me? Why is he hugging me? He's never hugged me before._

Before she had a chance to overcome her confusion and enjoy the moment, Clint was pulling back, one arm remaining around her waist while the other hand moved to hold the side of her face.

Last night after the meeting, she'd been sure he was going to kiss her. She'd thought he was reaching out to hold her face, like he was doing now, but then he'd stopped.

Well, he wasn't stopping this time.

He was looking seriously at her, his gaze traveling across her face, and she saw his eyes flick briefly down to her lips. Natasha's heart was throbbing painfully, and then Clint leaned in and…

...kissed her on the cheek?

Natasha's heart dropped all the way to her stomach.

Of course. He wasn't going to kiss her. He didn't want to kiss her. He only saw her as a friend. He had laughed outright at even the idea of being in a relationship with her.

Disappointment welled up in Natasha's stomach. And then she was pushing him away, and he jumped back, and she hastened back into her home without another word.

Natasha trudged back up the hallway toward the kitchen. She couldn't believe she'd made the same stupid mistake twice in two days. She needed to get it out of her head that Clint wanted to kiss her; just because she wanted to kiss him, he didn't automatically feel the same way.

 _Get a grip, Romanoff…_

She entered the kitchen, and was instantly on the receiving end of four hopeful gazes.

"What happened?" May asked.

"Did you make out?" Bobbi added.

Natasha returned to her barstool and took a long pull at Clint's abandoned beer bottle, scowling. "He kissed my cheek," she mumbled.

 _"What!"_

"Natasha," Pepper said, beaming. "That's—"

 _"Awful,"_ Hill finished.

Bobbi stared at Hill in disbelief. "What?"

"If he was going to kiss you at all, it should have been on the mouth, not the cheek," May put in.

Pepper frowned. "But… a kiss on the cheek is a good sign, too."

"A kiss on the cheek is a platonic gesture," Hill informed her dryly.

Natasha took another sip of beer.

"Not necessarily," Bobbi disagreed. "It can be a positive sign, too – he probably just hasn't worked up the courage to kiss her on the lips yet."

"If he can kiss her on the cheek, he can kiss her on the mouth," May said flatly.

"Look, can we not discuss this right now?" Natasha interrupted, glowering. She was somewhat unsettled by how casually they were referencing the idea of Clint kissing her on the mouth, when it was the most thrilling, incredible, intoxicating idea she could imagine.

"Sorry," Bobbi said instantly.

Natasha sighed. "Just tell me what to do. I don't know what to do, I don't know what this means." She felt so helpless and inexperienced in this area.

"Well… it's looking like we don't either," Hill admitted. "We're kind of divided here."

"So now what?" Natasha asked again.

Pepper sighed. "Nat, we really don't know. This might be a good thing, it might not. It looks like all you can do is what you've already been doing – just wait."

Natasha groaned and drew a hand through her hair. "All this waiting will make me insane; one of these days I'm just going to snap."

"Well, maybe it won't be much longer," May said optimistically. "Just keep watching him, and maybe you'll see something different."

 _I guess that's what I'll do, then._

 _Really, it's the only thing I_ can _do._

 _Right?_

* * *

 **Sorry I didn't get this out yesterday. :/ It's been getting more challenging lately to post in a timely manner, but I'll keep plugging away! I doubt I'll have time to write tomorrow, but I'll certainly try to post sometime this week. :)**

 **I appreciate your guys' support so much, honestly, I don't deserve it. :P All my reviewers are just so kind and it's uplifting. I know I've said this before, but thank you thank you thank you all!,! Shoutout to every reviewer, follower, favoriter, and reader - you're amazing, to be honest. :)**


	38. Nat POV13: Step 21 - Part A

**Ravenpuff Nerd - AH babe! You don't even understand how much I want to hug you right now okay. Thanks so very very much, and I really hope life starts to look up for you! Gosh, I'm going to hate when I'm done with this story and I can't talk to you anymore. :'(**

 **dans - Oh my gosh okay, your review is legit the best thing that's happened to me all year okay. Omg I grin stupidly every time I read it, that is so so nice and exactly what I needed to hear right now! So seriously thank you so much. ^-^**

* * *

The United Nations conference had gone well, in terms of the debate. UN had allowed SHIELD to go on functioning, and Agent Walters had arranged a SHIELD-wide party to celebrate.

In terms of the situation between Natasha and Clint, however, things could have been better.

Natasha had saved Clint a seat not far from the front, but he'd seen the empty space beside her and took a spot at the back instead. This fact had been plaguing her throughout the conference, and she'd had to work hard to focus on what was being said.

Then there had been the whole matter of him watching her during the debate, and she hadn't known why; but afterwards, in the lobby, he'd definitely been distancing himself from her, had abruptly ended their conversation, and had tried to leave without saying goodbye. Which, ordinarily, she wouldn't have been so bothered by; but given his overly warm farewells the last few times she'd seen him, she was left wondering if he was pissed at her for some reason. She'd asked him, of course, but he'd denied that anything was wrong and had acted so natural, that she was left wondering whether she'd imagined his frostiness.

And now, she was very curious to see how he would behave towards her at the party.

It was a little after ten when Natasha arrived at the venue. If the outside of the building was any indication, the celebration was an extravagant one.

Natasha entered the building and found herself in a decorative hallway, marble-floored and lined with flickering candles. She could hear soft music issuing from the room ahead, and a couple was making out in a corner.

As Natasha passed them, they separated slightly, and she caught a glimpse of Lance Hunter's face, dazed and smeared with fuchsia lipstick. At the same moment, she recognized the blonde he was with as Bobbi Morse. Natasha smiled to herself as she strode into the main room – apparently Morse had hooked up with her ex again.

The ornate room was full of people in formal wear, dancing, chatting, and drinking. Natasha paused, scanning the room—

—and then she saw him. Standing by the bar, leaning against the wall, sipping his wine with one hand in the pocket of his fitted tuxedo. Natasha swallowed.

 _Stop staring at him, dammit! You've been obvious enough already!_

She forced her gaze away from her partner and focused on the bar instead as she continued on towards it.

She carefully kept her gaze off the archer when she reached the bar, though she was very aware of his presence on her left.

"A champagne, please," she said to the bartender. He nodded and stepped away, and Natasha finally turned to face Clint.

He was standing quietly against the wall, watching her seriously over his wine glass. He may have been decked out in an expensive tuxedo, but his hair still stuck up on top the way it always did.

Natasha smiled a little uncertainly at him. He had undoubtedly been avoiding her yesterday, and she wasn't sure if he was done yet.

However, he didn't try to escape her company. He just tipped his head and blinked thoughtfully at her.

Well, if he wasn't avoiding her, she certainly wasn't going anywhere.

She leaned onto the bar and smirked at him. "Hey there."

Clint merely nodded in reply, his eyes dropping to the rim of his wine glass.

"You look good," he said after a moment.

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "You don't look so bad yourself." _Now there's the understatement of the millennium._

"Thanks."

The bartender slid Natasha her champagne, and she took a sip. Two abandoned champagne glasses were sitting on the counter next to each other, one of them smeared with fuchsia lipstick, and Natasha gestured to them in a desperate attempt to start a conversation.

"Hunter and Morse get together again?"

Clint stared at her, brow furrowed. "How did you…?" He trailed off.

Natasha indicated the lipstick-stained glass. "Morse's lipstick," she explained. Clint still looked baffled, so she pointed at the other cup and added playfully, "Hunter's fingerprints."

Clint squinted hard at Hunter's cup. Natasha smothered a grin.

"Plus, I saw them making out," she added.

Realization melted across Clint's face, and he groaned. Natasha chuckled.

"Really had me going there for a minute, Romanoff."

Natasha stopped laughing.

 _Romanoff._ He was calling her by her last name now. He rarely did that. Generally if he called her Romanoff, it either meant that he was frustrated with her or teasing her. Which was it this time? Had she done something to offend him without realizing it? Was that why he had seemed so distant yesterday? Was he upset about her lack of response to his hug on Wednesday?

Suddenly she realized that he was asking her to dance.

Natasha set down her champagne glass. "Sure," she said, trying to sound casual. "Why not."

"'Kay." Clint set his glass down and started towards the dance floor. Natasha followed.

They reached the center of the floor, and Clint turned and took her by the hand. She set her free hand on his shoulder, and he took hold of her waist as they began to waltz.

Memories played in Natasha's mind… their undercover op in Moscow, back in May. She had danced with Clint just like this at the ball they'd attended, and… he had kissed her.

The memory hit her chest with a heavy lurch. At the time, she'd been focused on locating the SVR target; she hadn't been contemplating how it felt to kiss Clint.. She remembered his murmur of, "See anything?" between kisses, and her slurred response: "Not yet."

It seemed impossible to her now to consider that kissing Clint had ever been a mundane affair for her, that she had ever been able to concentrate on mission details when his lips were on hers.

 _Damn karma._

Clint was being uncharacteristically quiet. His eyes swept idly around the room behind her, exuding boredom and distraction.

In an effort to get his attention, and maybe to get a reaction out of him, Natasha said, "Haven't done this since Moscow."

Clint's eyes shot to her as soon as she spoke, and they hovered there for a moment. Her hand was starting to slip out of his, and his gaze snapped to their interlocked hands when she readjusted her grip.

Natasha watched him closely, waiting to see if he would react to her comment.

After a moment, his gaze shifted again and alighted on her lips.

 _There._ Now he was thinking about that kiss in Moscow.

His gaze hung on her mouth for a moment, then he looked away. Natasha felt disappointment wash through her. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting to happen; it wasn't as though reminding him of when they'd kissed to uphold their cover would prompt him to kiss her here and now.

 _Wake up, Romanoff._

Gradually, they had moved away from the dance floor, and Natasha became aware that Clint had steered her closer to the wall. Puzzled, she glanced over his shoulder, wondering if he was even aware how removed they were from the other dancers.

"Natasha."

Natasha's feet stilled at the gravity of his tone, and she looked up at him, her pulse rate rising. He was gazing seriously down at her, and he dropped her hand.

Natasha let her hand fall off his shoulder. "What is it?" she asked a little breathlessly.

Clint scowled at the floor between them, working his jaw back and forth. His hand tightened on her waist, and Natasha got the sense that he was going through some inner struggle.

At last he sighed. "Nat, I don't know how to say this without sounding like an idiot. But…" He paused, scanning every inch of her face. Natasha gnawed at her lower lip, anticipation rising.

Clint shook his head. "I'm—I'm so—"

Natasha raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"—glad you came tonight," Clint finished, and Natasha's heart sank all the way to her stomach.

"I know I was acting kind of aloof yesterday," Clint went on, "and I was afraid it would prevent you from coming. I'm just glad it didn't." He smiled.

Natasha forced herself to smile back. "Me too."

Clint nodded back at her, still studying her face. There was a long silence. Natasha was hyper-aware of his hand on her side.

Then he took a step back, and his hand slipped off of her. He turned, mumbling something about a drink, and strode quickly away from her.

Disappointment was pooling in the pit of her stomach, and she didn't know why. After all, what else would he have said? What had she expected him to say? That he was in love with her?

 _I'm such an imbecile._

She needed to get that thought out of her head. He wasn't in love with her; if he was, he would have told her a long time ago. He'd had every opportunity to, he had no reason to wait. Which meant that he wasn't in love with her.

And maybe it was time to get over it.

* * *

 **Also requested by multiple people - this one was a bit of a bear to get through, which is odd since not a ton happens in it. O.o But I'm actually really happy with how it turned out, so thanks much to those who requested!,!**

 **Ok so I have 3 chapters left to post. The going's been a little rough lately, but I think it'll be easier this week and I'll work as consistently as possible. I'm going to try hard to finish posting by the tenth, sooo we'll see how that goes! Really going to miss you all when this is over, you made the whole experience of posting this story so rich and enjoyable! Thank you everybody!,! *group hug***


	39. Nat POV14: Step 21 - Part B

**Ravenpuff Nerd - Oh, thanks for noticing! x) I'm picky about grammar too. And YAY so this isn't goodbye then!,! xD Yes, I have plans for many future fics, and I hope you enjoy them when I finally get around to posting! :)**

 **dans - How are you the way that you are? How are you so awesome! Omw you don't understand, your reviews make my freaking day you wonderful piece of sunshine you. Blessings on your skull, may you always plug in your charger right side up on your first try, may your crush always text you back, etc etc x))**

* * *

She was in love with him, but he didn't feel the same. Maybe it was time to move on.

But how _could_ she move on? How could she just ignore her feelings when all she could think about was his voice when he said her name, his searching gaze, his lingering touch on her waist—

Natasha stopped short.

" _Nat, I don't know how to say this without sounding like an idiot, but I'm so glad you came tonight."_

She remembered his intense expression, the urgency in his tone, the hesitancy in his speech.

Had that really been all he wanted to say?

The realization lit an ember of hope in her chest. Of _course_ that hadn't been all he wanted to say – his face had been so serious, his manner had been so purposeful, he'd been watching her so closely. How had she missed it – he had obviously been preparing to tell her something important, but had changed his mind.

So what had he been about to say?

Natasha located her partner across the room. He was at the bar again, leaning onto the counter with his back to her. He was slumped forward on his elbows, taking slow sips of red wine.

He had been about to tell her something, but he'd changed his mind, and now he was keeping it from her. And she was going to call him on it.

Natasha started decisively across the floor towards Clint. She slipped past twirling couples on the dance floor, skirted a few laughing groups, and strode up behind him.

She had nearly reached him when he straightened.

He turned and walked directly into her.

And the next thing she knew, Clint's wine glass was shattering on the floor, prompting a gasp from the onlookers, and dark red liquid was rolling down her gold dress.

Natasha looked up at Clint. He was staring at her in shock, his hand still curled around an invisible wine glass. His mouth was hanging open, and Natasha could see in his eyes how horrified and dismayed he was.

She knew it had been an accident, and the brief twinge of irritation she felt was wiped away in an instant by the overwhelming guilt in his expression. She could tell he was thoroughly ashamed of himself and already mentally berating himself, and this realization emptied her of any desire to berate him herself. It was just a mistake, and she wasn't angry.

She was about to tell him as much when the urgency of the situation struck her. There was red wine soaking into her expensive dress. She needed water. Water would stop the drink from spreading, and prevent the stains from settling into the fabric.

In all probability, they had water behind the bar. But a crowd was starting to gather, gasping and whispering and staring at the mess, and Natasha found that she was much more inclined to head to the bathroom instead.

There was a bathroom in one of the side halls, she was sure of it. The crowd parted easily around her as she stalked to the passage, took a sharp right, and headed down the hall to the bathroom.

The bathroom on this side of the building was a single room with no stalls. Natasha locked the door behind her and immediately wrenched her zipper down.

The slider stalled at her waist. Natasha yanked irritably at the pull, but it refused to move.

 _Der'mo._

After several ineffective tugs, she tried shoving the dress down over her hips. But as the slider was stuck at the narrowest part of her waist, this attempt proved useless.

Natasha was yanking at the pull again when the doorknob rattled. She cursed under her breath and tried to pull her zipper up to cover her back, but the slider had apparently decided to stay exactly where it was and there was no moving it.

There was a rapid thumping at the door, and then Clint's voice called her name.

"Nat! I'm so sorry!" He sounded anxious. "It was an accident! Please let me in!" He knocked again, and the door vibrated from the force of the impact.

Natasha hesitated and gave the pull one last upward tug.

 _It's just Clint,_ she told herself firmly, and she unlocked the door.

Clint burst into the room, panting slightly. His bluish eyes locked onto her, and her fingers scrabbled frantically at the zipper. _Maybe this was a mistake._

"Natasha," Clint said earnestly. "I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean to spill that all over you, I feel awful!"

"It's fine," Natasha said vaguely. It crossed her mind to ask for his help with the zipper; he could reach it much more easily than she could, after all, and it wasn't as though he'd never seen her undressed. But it would feel so different now that her feelings had changed, so she rejected the idea instantly.

She realized abstractedly that Clint had apologized again, and she said it was fine again. Maybe she _should_ just ask for his help – she wasn't getting anywhere as it was, and Clint was usually pretty good with untying knots and getting things unstuck, that kind of thing. But she scrapped the idea again and instead turned to look at the zipper in the mirror, trying to give herself the illusion that she was getting somewhere with it. Which she wasn't.

Clint cleared his throat, a noise that Natasha found oddly attractive.

"I've gotta go," he said. "But I'll fix this, Tasha, don't worry! I'll make it all better."

He started to turn away, and Natasha made a split-second decision.

"Barton—"

Clint stopped and looked at her expectantly.

Wordlessly, Natasha swivelled around, turning her back to him. She set her hands on her hips, waiting.

Clint remained silent, and it hit Natasha in the face that he had no idea what she wanted.

 _Wake up, Widow._

"Zipper," she explained hastily.

After a moment, she felt Clint move in behind her. His fingers fumbled at her zipper, then she felt pressure around her middle as he tried to tug it down with as much success as she had had.

Natasha glanced at him over her shoulder. His brow was furrowed as he concentrated, but then he looked up and his eyes fastened on hers. Natasha went still.

Clint cleared his throat a second time. "Hang on a sec." His head disappeared behind her as he knelt down to look at the zipper.

Natasha could feel him picking at the fabric around the zipper, searching for a catch, no doubt. She dug her fingers into her hips and inhaled slowly.

And then two of his fingers slid down into her dress, and she jumped.

He was trying to see the back of the slider, and she knew it. But his touch was just so damn distracting, and her insides were swirling with excitement.

After a moment, he exhaled. And he was so close that she actually felt his breath on her exposed skin, and goosebumps skittered across her back.

 _Get a grip._

His fingers worked at the zipper for some time more, twisting and tugging at the fabric. His rough knuckles grazed her skin now and then, and her stomach fluttered at his touch, unintentional though it was.

"I think I got it."

She craned her head to look down at him, as he tugged at the pull and it obediently glided downwards.

"Yep, got it."

Natasha turned, and suddenly he was on his feet again, so close to her that they were almost touching without even trying. Her thanks caught in her throat as his breathtaking eyes found hers, and he inhaled slightly.

His gaze was skimming across her face again, in that unique way of his that was somehow relaxed and intense at the same time. She thought he lingered on her mouth longer than any other part of her face, but it could have been wishful thinking.

It was one of those moments that made her start to wonder if maybe he _did_ feel something for her after all...

And then he angled his head a little, and her pulse stuttered – he was going to kiss her.

But a few heartbeats passed, and he didn't; he just kept gazing at her, waiting.

Natasha was a breath away from rising up on tiptoe to kiss him, but she checked herself.

 _I already decided I can't do this, dammit. I have to keep waiting._

But when Clint was so close to her, and his blue-gray eyes were fixed so intently on her, waiting just seemed like such a poor alternative to learning the taste of his lips…

With a superhuman effort, Natasha forced herself to step back. For a second, her thoughts were so jumbled that she couldn't remember what she was doing here, but then it all came flooding back. Her dress. The wine. The stains that were probably going to be permanent at this point.

Her hand quickly moved to her zipper, but then she hesitated. She glanced at uncertainly at Clint – allowing him in the room while her dress was partially unzipped was one thing. Allowing him in the room while she took her dress all the way off was entirely another.

Having changed in front of Clint dozens of times, Natasha felt almost as weird asking him to leave as she would letting him stay. She was on the point of biting the bullet and just yanking the zipper down the rest the way, when Clint spoke.

"Sorry," he said again, and Natasha wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. Then he backed out of the room and shut the door.

…

Some time later, the winestains were watered-down but still present, and smeared across the dress. Natasha had used water and paper towels to work at the stains, and her efforts had helped somewhat, but the mess still remained. Now she was debating whether or not she should even stay at the party with her dress in its current condition.

She was just zipping it back up when there was a knock at the door.

"Nat? Is it okay if I come in?"

It was Clint.

Natasha unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Her partner was standing just outside the door. His gaze traveled down to her stained dress, and he grimaced. His bright eyes met hers.

"Couldn't get it out, then."  
Natasha shook her head. Clint's face fell, so she added, "I'll try again later."

In reality, though, she was pretty sure she'd done all she could.

She retreated from of the doorway and leaned back against the counter. Clint trudged in behind her and pushed the door shut.

He stood a few paces in front of her, shamefacedly scanning the winestains.

"Nat, I'm so sorry," he mumbled, dropping his head. "I'm such an idiot. I make a mess of everything." He shoved his hands into his pockets, not meeting her eyes.

Natasha bit her lip. He was doing that 'kicked puppy' thing again, hanging his head, hunching his shoulders, and it was almost ridiculous how adorable she found it. She wanted to hug him, or kiss him, anything to reassure him that she wasn't angry.

"Don't stress about it," she said instead. "It's just a dress."

"It's ruined though." Clint kicked inconsolably at the floor. "You'll never be able to wear it again."

"Hey. Don't feel bad about it," Natasha said. "It was an accident."

Clint sighed, and his shoulders slumped. "I'm really sorry, Nat."

"Stop apologizing," Natasha ordered. "I'm really not upset about it. And you shouldn't be, either. It'll be fine."

Clint exhaled. He lifted his head slightly, enough that his remorseful gaze hit her face. Natasha tilted her head at him.

 _Hot_ damn _those eyes…_

She loved him so damn much. She loved how awkward and flustered he could be sometimes, she loved how serious and thoughtful he could be at other times. She loved his sharp eyes, his snub nose, his messy hair, his strong hands, his crooked smile, his little clumsy gestures, the way his eyes crinkled up when he laughed…

And suddenly she was sick of it. Sick of waiting around, watching him, and wondering, sick of analyzing his every movement and word and tone and expression, sick of loving him when he didn't love her back. " _If you really want to know how he feels about you,"_ May had said, " _a kiss on the mouth is a good test,"_ ; and just like that, the urge to kiss him was back, even stronger than before.

She felt as though she'd been gradually working up to this point all along without even realizing it, the point where kissing him was the only thing on her mind when he was in the room. She was barely holding on now; her resolve had almost reached a breaking point, and she was teetering on the edge.

 _As long as he doesn't do his awkward little 'I-want-to-talk-to-you-but-I-don't-know-what-to-say' routine, or the throat-clearing thingy_ —

Clint cleared his throat. "So… uh…"

" _Dammit."_

She hadn't meant to speak out loud. But apparently she had, because Clint had gone quiet and was giving her the wide-eyed, slightly worried expression he often had when he screwed up and thought she was about to start yelling at him.

His forehead was wrinkled, his chin was tucked toward his chest, the line of his shoulders was tense, and suddenly it was all too much and she was starting forward and grabbing him and kissing him and kissing him and kissing him, and she had him against the wall and he was panting and gasping, his chest heaving beneath her hands...

He wasn't kissing her back. He was limp against the wall, jaw slack as she explored his mouth – not fighting her, but not responding either.

At this realization, she pulled back – slowly, reluctantly. And then she met his eyes, searching them hopefully, waiting to see if the love she felt was reflected there…

Clint was gawking at her. He hadn't moved; his mouth was hanging open, his eyes were huge and he was breathing hard, looking as though kissing him was the last thing in the world he had ever expected her to do.

He looked shocked. Bewildered, even. But 'happy' was not a word that came to mind.

A wave of disappointment crashed down on her like ice water; she was so unhappy that she actually felt faint for a moment.

She was an idiot, an absolute idiot, and Clint was gaping at her like she was a freak, like he was completely disgusted with her.

 _Why did you do that? Why!? He never loved you, and now he'll hate you..._

Now she really did feel sick.

She pulled herself together enough to stammer a rushed apology, then she all but ran out of that room, that hot, stuffy room that crawled with disappointment and her and Clint's mutual contempt of Natasha Romanoff.

* * *

 **I believe this was requested by Ravenpuff Nerd. :D TYSM for requesting, I actually had a blast writing this one! Also tysm for existing, you're my number one bae and I love you. ^-^ Reading your reviews always warms my heart and it just, it makes me really happy that you're currently alive on this planet somewhere, it really does. Best of luck to you in everything that you do! :)**

 **Thank you all for your patience with me! I have found that writing Nat pov chapters always takes longer, because I have a template so I can go into a lot more detail and I end up using more words. Still, I'll keep at it, and post the next chapter asap. 'See' you soon! x)**


	40. Nat POV15: Step 21 - Part C

**Ilessthan3KH - Aww thank you babe!,! I love you too! x) And hey, you are more than welcome to stalk any and all of my future fics, it'd be great to hear from you again! :D**

 **Guest (Kaitlin) - Aw hun that is so nice! I'm glad you like my stories, and believe me, there is no chance that I will stop writing anytime soon - I am freaking OBSESSED with Clintasha. x) Aww thank you for being you, too! :)**

 **Ravenpuff Nerd - OH, WHY THANKS. XD I'm just sitting here covering my mouth rn because you made me smile really big and I don't want people to think I'm crazy. xP Ahh that is actually one of the biggest compliments you can give a writer, and it means a lot to me especially because that is exactly what I strive for in my writing. So thank youuu and keep being awesome!**

 **dans - AHH THANK YOU. Agh yes, I'm the exact same way, so I really appreciate that you noticed! ^-^ Aww love you too, thanks for all your very motivating reviews!,!**

 **Sorry I didn't reply to everyone Dx I got a lot of reviews on the last one so I couldn't reply to them all. xP**

* * *

I'm _a moron. An absolute, stupid-ass moron, and that was a huge mistake._

Natasha took a long pull at her glass of vodka. She glanced around the emptying bar and sighed heavily.

Her original plan after leaving the party had been simple: go home, take off the stained dress, maybe a drink or two, then straight to bed. But after completing the first two parts of the plan, she'd found that the beer she had on hand wasn't going to cut it; she needed something a little more potent. Upon discovering (to her horror) that she was out of vodka, she'd immediately headed for the nearest bar.

And now, for the past several minutes, she'd been slumped here in a booth in the back of the pub, drowning in vodka and replaying the disaster from the party. The final snap of her resolve. The kiss. And worst of all, Clint's shocked, revolted expression, sticking in the back of her mind, haunting her.

He'd looked utterly horrified. And who could blame him? His coworker, his professional partner of some ten-plus years, had grabbed him and kissed him at a business party. While wearing a hideously stained dress.

In a public bathroom.

So romantic.

 _Dammit, Romanoff._

Natasha dragged a hand listlessly through her hair. She wished she'd at least showed a little restraint. _Couldn't I have just kissed him once? Did I really have to kiss his mouth halfway off?_

She took a long swallow of vodka.

Really, the whole situation had reeked of anticlimax. She'd been fantasizing about kissing him for much longer than she cared to admit. And these fantasies always involved him taking her into his arms and kissing her back, not gawking at her like she'd grown a third eye. She hadn't wanted it to go like this – she'd hoped the kiss, when it happened, would be enjoyable. As it was, any enjoyment she might have felt in the moment had been immediately erased by Clint's reaction.

 _What the hell was I thinking? We were already best friends_ – _couldn't I have just left it at that?_

Natasha started to raise her vodka to her lips, but she stopped herself. The reminder that Clint had already been her best friend instilled her with sudden resolve: she had to fix this. Her impetuous, stupid behavior might ruin their friendship, and she couldn't let that happen. Although she was in love with him, although she wanted to be something more to him, she wasn't willing to risk their friendship for that. Because if there was one thing she could never give up, it was Clint.

 _Maybe I should've thought of that_ before _I kissed him,_ she realized with a rush of irritation.

Natasha pushed her drink to the far side of the table. To salvage their relationship, she was going to have to convince Clint that she didn't love him. And to do that, she would have to come up with an insanely good excuse for why she had kissed him.

And to do that, then she needed to be sober.

…

It was close to eleven-fifteen when Natasha reached Clint's apartment, armed with a decent excuse for her actions: The kiss had been an impulsive, spur-of-the-moment decision that had no basis in love, but only the desire she was feeling at the time. Her feelings for Clint were only skin-deep; it wasn't even a crush, just physical attraction, and she would get over it in no time, in fact, she was starting to get over it already.

Not her most convincing lie, maybe, but enough to convince him. Hopefully.

Clint's car was parked outside, and Natasha pulled into the spot next to him. She took a deep breath, catching two fistfuls of her hair.

 _I can do this._

She closed her eyes, mentally rehearsing her speech: _Barton, before you say anything, I think I should apologize for what happened back at that party. No matter what reasons I had for kissing you, it was stupid, thoughtless, and irresponsible, and I wasn't thinking about how I would come across. I'm sorry._

And after that good, solid start, she would go on to explain her 'reasons' for kissing him, making sure to throw in phrases like 'physical attraction', 'impetuous', and 'unpremeditated'. It would work. It had to.

As she carefully planned out her deception, Natasha gradually began to realize just how difficult it would be to tell him that she didn't love him. And not just in terms of getting the lie across – she was great at lying; and although when it came to Clint and her feelings for him, she'd found that lying came a bit more difficult, she was sure she could manage. No, the main difficulty sprang from how much she would detest telling him something that was so incredibly untrue, and the possible emotional effect it could have – not on Clint, but on herself. She was already barely holding onto her resolve; how on earth could she tell him she didn't love him when all she wanted to do was throw her arms around him and kiss him again?

She'd always heard people talk about the idiocy of making the same mistake twice. But kissing Clint was a mistake she'd be happy to make over and over again.

Idly, she wondered what was going through _his_ mind right now, and what he was feeling towards her. Her first guess was that he was angry with her, but after further thought, she dismissed this possibility. Clint may not have been in love with her, but he was still her best friend. In all probability, he felt sorry for her. She grimaced at the thought, but it was all too likely – from an objective viewpoint, she'd kissed a man she loved who didn't feel the same way, and was suffering the repercussions. He probably pitied her.

 _Alright, enough stalling. Let's get this over with._

Natasha stepped out of her car and headed briskly, determinedly towards the tall building.

It was a short, apprehension-filled walk up to Clint's floor. Within a few tense minutes, she was standing outside Clint's door. The light was off, but she could hear soft movement from the far reaches of the flat, and she knew he was home.

Natasha took a long breath and exhaled slowly.

 _Okay. Let's do this._

Without bothering to knock, Natasha twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

Clint's apartment was dim, lit only by a single lamp by the wall. The only other light source was the faint glow of streetlights from the window. And Clint was standing midway across the room, looking at her in surprise.

Natasha swallowed. Slowly but decisively, she stepped inside and shut the door behind her. Clint's gaze was still planted firmly on her as she leaned back against the door.

 _Great, you made it here, now say something. Start apologizing._

Natasha met Clint's eyes. "Barton," she began swiftly, as he started forward. "Before you say anything, I—"

And that was all she managed before he took the sides of her face and pressed his lips to hers.

There was a strangled choking sensation in Natasha's throat, and she couldn't breathe. A potpourri of emotions swirled through her: shock, delight, confusion, realization… anger.

He didn't love her, and here he was kissing her – out of pity.

With superhuman effort, Natasha shoved him away. Now that his lips were no longer on hers, the extent of her anger hit, and she stared up at him, furious.

 _"_ _Clint!"_

Clint winced and backed away, holding up his hands. Natasha huffed and stepped around him, stalking over to the kitchen table.

She rested her palms on the tabletop, breathing hard. That wasn't supposed to happen. That wasn't in the script. He had kissed her, in blatant disregard of her feelings, because he felt sorry for her. Natasha scowled at her hands, anger churning in her stomach.

"What?" Clint asked from behind her, and she rounded on him.

"Okay, so maybe I shouldn't have kissed you," she snarled, her hands closing into fists. "Maybe it was stupid, thoughtless, and irresponsible." She took a step towards him, glowering darkly. _(He already knows, what's the point in pretending?)_ "But at least the reason I kissed you was because I love you!"

Clint blinked. A moment passed.

"I'm confused," Clint stated.

Natasha leaned back onto the table and crossed her arms, gritting her teeth as she glared accusingly at the floor.

"Look," she spat, not meeting his eyes. "You're my best friend. I know you must feel sorry for me since I have feelings for someone who doesn't return them." New ideas sprang up in her mind, and she continued, "And you probably feel guilty for barely reacting when I kissed you, and maybe you, I don't know, enjoyed kissing me the first time or something." She looked up at him, scowling. "But _none_ of those are good enough reasons to kiss me just now, _especially_ since you know how I feel about you!"

Clint just looked blankly at her for a minute.

Then, gradually, comprehension slid across his face, and he let out a soft _ohh,_ dropping his head forward with something like relief.

 _"_ _Nat,"_ he said; and then he laughed, actually _laughed_ at her. "That—"

"I'm not joking!" Natasha snapped.

Clint stopped laughing.

He buried his hands in his pockets, watching her quietly as she exhaled, folding her arms more tightly over her chest.

"Maybe kissing you was stupid, but at least I meant it," Natasha growled. "Don't kiss me unless you mean it, Barton."

Clint gazed thoughtfully at her for a minute, shifting his weight back and forth. His forehead was creased with concentration, his chin was tilted down, his blue eyes were bright and serious in the dim lamplight.

He started forward with slow, measured steps, drawing to a halt when he was directly in front of her. Natasha clenched her jaw, glowering at the few inches of floor between them. Clint remained silent, waiting, until she finally worked up the courage to lift her chin and meet his eyes.

Clint listed his head to one side, searching her face solemnly, and then he leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips.

A thrill shot through Natasha, and she quickly turned her head to the side, breaking the contact.

"I told you to stop doing that," she muttered, even as her pulse thrummed with excitement.

Clint was so close that she could hear him breathing. He pulled a hand out of his pocket and took hold of her chin, and then his nose and lips were skimming past her temple, giving her chills.

Natasha closed her eyes and forced her palm against his chest, pushing him away. _"Stop it,"_ she hissed. In the back of her mind there was a lingering worry that if he kept going, she wouldn't be able to stop him.

Clint adjusted his hold on her chin and pressed a kiss to her jaw, and in a burst of resolve, Natasha shoved both her hands against his chest.

"Did you even hear me, Barton?" She glared at him. "I don't want to you doing that unless you love me!"

A smile stole across Clint's face, and he raised an eyebrow. "Nat… what do you think I'm trying to tell you?"

Natasha froze.

 _What…_

Cold shock washed over her, and she was left numb and struggling to breathe, her eyes fixed on him. He was joking, he must be joking… right?

"And what I've been trying to tell you for the past three weeks, in fact," Clint continued, good-natured exasperation coloring his tone. "All this stupid stuff I've been doing: calling you for no reason, kicking you under the table, going out of my way to see you, lending you books, _trying_ to compliment you, buying you freaking cats… what did you think all that was for? Did you think I was just bored?" He gave a low chuckle and shook his head, grinning lopsidedly at her. Natasha's heartbeat was steadily quickening. Her cold shock was fading, and a warm feeling was gradually taking its place.

Clint set his hands on the table on either side of her, and his voice went soft. "Nat, I'm crazy about you," he said simply, studying her face. Her heart flipped over. "I know, when you kissed me back at that party, I didn't really say anything… or _do_ anything… but that's because I was just really, really surprised. Believe me, I was over the _moon,"_ he added. His gaze flicked down to rest on her lips, and for the first time, Natasha really started to believe him.

 _"_ _God,_ I've been wanting to kiss you for _ages,"_ Clint went on. "I would've told you how I felt a long time ago, but I didn't know how. And it would've been a heck of a lot easier if I didn't love you so goddamn much!"

Natasha stared at him in disbelief. He was… telling the truth...? There was only honesty in his expression, but she had to be sure.

Hurriedly, she snatchd the front of his shirt and looked him fiercely in the eye. "Swear you're not lying to me," she breathed. "Just tell me this isn't some sort of an—elaborate prank that you and Stark are playing on me."

Clint laughed softly and shifted forward, pressing her into the edge of the table with his hips. _"Natasha,"_ he chided, and she heard the unspoken message in his tone: _You know I wouldn't lie about this._

So it was true. He loved her.

Natasha searched for it in his face, trying to find the her love mirrored in his expression. But she couldn't see it – he was looking at her the same way he always did.

And then it clicked - he wasn't looking at her any differently because nothing was different, his feelings for her hadn't changed.

He'd been in love with her all along.

Natasha swallowed.

"Okay," she said quietly. "I guess it's okay if you kiss me then."

And then Clint's hands were in her hair, his mouth was on hers, and he was kissing her with such unbridled intensity that her head spun. Her chest ached and her fingers gripped the front of his shirt more tightly, trying desperately to pull him even closer than he already was.

His kisses were warm and direct, and held nothing back. One of his hands dropped out of her hair and skidded down her spine, small shivers following his touch. His fingers spread across her back, pressing her firmly against him, and dissipating the vague, unspoken fear in the back of her mind that if she let go of him, he would try to pull away. She released his shirt then, her hands sliding up to the nape of his neck to urge him closer – she was dizzy, faint with ecstasy, and she couldn't kiss him enough, couldn't get close enough, couldn't convey how in love with him she was through her caresses.

Her kisses grew more possessive then, trying frantically to communicate the extent of her passion as she whimpered softly in her throat. Clint's response challenged her enthusiasm, and soon the ferocity of their kisses left her lightheaded, breathless, and more in love with him than ever.

Eventually, they broke apart. Clint easily lifted Natasha by the hips and set her on the table, resting his forehead against hers. His hand came up to cup the side of her face, and she smiled, panting heavily.

After a moment, she straightened, her smile growing as she looked at him, and he grinned back at her, looking even happier than she felt.

His hand was still resting on her cheek, and Natasha impulsively turned her head to the side, pressing her lips to his wrist.

"Clint," she murmured. She tugged his hand off her face and brushed a kiss past his knuckles, and placed another on the back of his hand.

Clint watched her quietly for a moment, head lowered, eyes shadowed by the lamplight.

"Mhmm," he answered.

Natasha paused, examining the blue veins in his hand, then smirked up at him. "You were in love with me for three weeks and you didn't tell me?"

Clint blinked. Then he let out an embarrassed chuckle.

Natasha rolled her eyes, kissing the center of his palm.

"Well, what's your excuse?" he teased.

Natasha thought for a moment.

"I was trying to keep the rumor mill at bay," she informed him.

Clint smiled disbelievingly. _"Oh,_ right, the _rumor mill."_

Natasha squinted at a scar on his thumb. "I hear the rumor mill has been running a little slow lately." She grinned playfully at him.

Clint raised his eyebrows. "Think we should give them some new material?"

Natasha pretended to think about it.

"It's a sacrifice," she said finally. "But I try to do what I can for society."

Clint chuckled and wrapped his strong arms around her, pulling her off the table. She gripped him around the waist with her thighs and slid her arms around his neck, her fingertips grazing his upper back.

Clint paused, looking up at her. He was supporting her with his forearm, and his free hand glided up her back.

"You know what?" he said thoughtfully.

Natasha tilted her head quizzically at him.

Clint's eyes twinkled. "I really like you."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, smiling. "I really like you, too. That's kinda why we just made out."

 _"_ _Oh,_ that's right," Clint joked. "Should we do some more?"

She smirked and leaned closer, her lips hovering over his.

"Do you want to?" she said mischievously.

"Well, that's sorta what I was getting at when I said we should give the rumor mill some new material."

"Oh, is _that_ what you meant?" Natasha said archly. "I thought you meant we should start some new rumors – maybe about Fury and Hill?"

"Natasha?"

"Yes?"

"Just shut up and kiss me."

"If you insist."

She bent her head and their lips met again, exchanging warm kisses as they moved out of the kitchen.

* * *

 **Requested by several readers - thanks guys! :D I think this may have its ups and downs, but I'm super excited for the second epilogue!,! Prepare for lots of fluff, some angst, and a side of playful banter. x)**

 **For those who've been asking about future stories: I'm currently working on a stupidly long Clintasha fic called _The Lost Years._ I started it last year, and I'm super pumped about it because, unlike with this one, I'm EDITING and putting ACTUAL THOUGHT into the plotlines, so it should be good! I'm hoping to start posting during the schoolyear, so keep an eye out when it gets colder! :)**


	41. Nat POV16: -CONCLUSION-

**And here we have the final installment of what has been an amazing adventure for me. :') Shoutout to all my followers/favoriters - just knowing you guys were reading inspired me so much! Shoutout to all my reviewers - I really appreciated all your kind comments so much, I read them over and over again. :D Shoutout to my squad: Mockingjay500, Buu22, Ravenpuff Nerd, NRomanoff, Liv, Little Toruk, Ilessthan3KH, dans, and SaphireInTheSky. You are the people who always made me look forward to posting, love you guys!,!**

* * *

It was mid-afternoon and they were lying on the couch, napping. The house was still and quiet; the only noises came from a softly ticking clock and the sounds of their intermingled breathing. Afternoon naps had become one of their rituals - they would curl up together and doze for hours, each comforted by the warmth and proximity of the other.

Natasha lay still, savoring the peaceful bliss of the moment. Clint's head was tucked under her chin, and she could feel his warm breath striking her collarbone every time he exhaled. Her arms were around his neck, his around her waist, and their legs were tangled at the end of the couch. They had been lying like this for some time, relaxed and comfortable.

Clint began to stir.

The couch cushion dipped as he shifted, and the pattern of his breathing altered as he gradually returned to consciousness. His eyelashes tickled her skin as his eyes opened.

For a moment, he remained still, familiarizing himself with his surroundings.

Then he pressed a kiss to the base of her throat.

Natasha closed her eyes, her body going slack as he worked his way up her neck, leading a trail of kisses toward her jaw.

"Clint," she said after a moment.

Clint paused at the spot where her neck met her chin.

"Yeah," he answered.

He resumed, following the line of her jaw toward her ear. Natasha smirked to herself.

"You should've read through all the steps before you committed to the list."

Clint halted.

It took him a second to figure out what she was talking about. Once he did, his warm laugh skittered down her neck.

"Well, I'm an idiot, remember, Firefly?" he teased, nuzzling her jawline.

Natasha's eyes were still closed as she revelled in the moment.

"Yes," she said vaguely.

"But a smart idiot," Clint added.

Natasha frowned. "A 'smart idiot'?"

"It's an oxymoron, Nat," Clint informed her, easing upward for a better view of her face. Her arms dropped away from his shoulders, and he planted his palms on the couch, leaning over her. "A figure of speech where contradictory words are used in conjunction with each other."

Natasha opened her eyes. Clint was hovering just above her, grinning impishly, his hair mussed from sleeping. She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I know what an oxymoron is, Barton."

Clint nodded with mock solemnity. "So do I. See, I'm a smart guy." He leaned over to kiss her.

"'Smart guy' is an oxymoron," Natasha quipped.

Clint halted a few inches away and grimaced. " _Ouch,_ Firefly."

Natasha smiled coyly at him.

She kissed the corner of his mouth. "The word 'oxymoron'," she began, reaching up to comb her fingers through his hair, "originally comes from the Greek terms _oxus_ and _moros,_ which roughly translate to 'sharp' and 'dull'." She tilted her head at him. "So the word 'oxymoron' is itself an oxymoron."

Clint raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Is this your idea of sweet talk during an intimate moment?"

"Is this your idea of an intimate moment?" Natasha rejoined.

"Well it's _about_ to be," Clint said roguishly; and then he took her face in one hand and moved in.

Their lips had barely brushed when Natasha's phone started jingling from across the room.

Natasha sighed and said "damn" into Clint's mouth.

Clint straightened, regarding her with feigned disgust. "Watch your dirty mouth when you're kissing me," he teased. "Now we'll _both_ have to wash our mouths with soap."

Natasha rolled her eyes and shoved him away, then started extricating herself from him.

"Wait wait where are you going?" Clint grabbed her shoulder, pushing her down again.

"My phone's ringing!" she laughed, struggling to sit up.

"So let it ring," Clint urged. He bent down again, and they shared a soft, lingering kiss, Natasha's ringer shrill in their ears

Clint drew away, looking fondly down at her. Natasha smiled at him for a moment, then she stirred.

"Okay, I have to pick up before it goes to voicemail."

"No, no, you stay here," Clint reiterated, easing her down by the shoulder again. "If it's Pepper or Maria, you'll get stuck in a long phone conversation. I can shut whoever it is down." He got to his feet and crossed the room. Natasha curled up in the warm spot he had left, her gaze idling on his back and broad shoulders as he raised the phone to his ear.

"Yeah."

He turned and faced her, leaning against the half-wall to the kitchen with one arm crossed.

"Yes you have." He ruffled his hair with his free hand.

Then he looked over at her and grinned mischievously. "Sorry, but Miss Romanoff is unavailable right now."

Natasha lifted an eyebrow at him. He just grinned.

"A message? Sure can."

Up until that point, Natasha had been more focused on his posture and endearing expressions than on his phone conversation, but her attention was caught when his brows drew together and he let out a bewildered laugh. "She's what?"

Natasha frowned. _Wait, what's going on?_

Clint laughed again. "Um, okay, that's what I thought you said.—Yeah, yeah, I can tell her that. May I ask why?" He listened for a moment, then suddenly his expression changed, and he went rigid. He stared at Natasha in disbelief.

"She did _what?"_ he demanded of the caller.

Natasha sat up, apprehension climbing. This didn't sound good.

"Who is it?" she hissed. Clint shook his head and raised a finger, signalling her to wait. He half-turned away and dropped his voice.

"Are you sure?"

He shot Natasha a glance, brow furrowed. She bit her lip, squirming self-consciously.

"When was this?" Clint continued. And then, "Are you sure you have the right Natasha Romanoff?"

 _What the hell is going on?_

Clint sighed and dragged a hand across his face. "Yep, that... that sounds like her.—Okay. Yeah, I'll give her the message.—Yep. Thanks." He hung up.

Clint stood there for a minute, staring at the screen of the phone. Natasha fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, waiting anxiously.

Slowly, Clint turned and approached the couch. He lowered himself down next to her and sat still for a minute, frowning at the floor.

Natasha watched him for a moment, chewing nervously at her lip. She was on the point of just biting the bullet and asking him what this was all about, but then he turned to her, and his frown smoothed into a smile, though he still looked troubled.

"Hey," he said.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him, waiting.

Clint shifted, turning his body towards her on the couch. "You know that restaurant downtown, uh… Eleven Madison Park?"

Natasha frowned, puzzled by his line of questioning. "Yes...?"

Clint nodded. "Have you… been there in the past few weeks?"

Natasha's frown deepened in mystification. "No."

Clint exhaled and dropped his head, his shoulders sagging in relief. "See, I _knew_ there had to a mix-up!" He lifted his head. "You just got banned from that place."

Natasha stared at him, baffled. "What? Why?"

"Well, apparently a few weeks ago, some lady who I guess looked like you was 'causing a disruption'. I guess at first they thought some other guy was the perp, but then they realized this lady was the one harassing _him."_ He scratched his head. "They said something like she, um, 'attacked him unprovoked', like she just up and started yelling at him and dragged him outside. Luckily, security got involved before anyone got hurt." Clint shrugged. "Anyway, they thought it was you and I guess they've been having trouble getting a hold of you—"

"Wait," Natasha interrupted, frowning. Clint's description of the fiasco had triggered something in her memory, and she closed her eyes. "I… think that was me."

She could feel Clint's confused gaze on her. "What? But I thought you said you hadn't been there in a while."

She turned to him. "Remember that time... right after the Weber op... when I went on a blind date?"

"Yes?"

"...I think we went to that restaurant."

Clint was silent for a minute.

Then he said, "So you're saying you beat the guy up?"

"More like, started to," Natasha replied. "But, like you said. Security got involved before anyone got hurt." She managed a smirk.

Clint hummed in reply, nodding slowly.

Then he said, "So what did he do?"

Natasha noticed with appreciation that Clint had already dismissed the restaurant's claim that she had attacked unprovoked. He knew her too well to believe that.

But she wasn't sure she wanted to tell Clint exactly what had happened at that restaurant. She'd heard many people make the kind of comments that her would-be date had made about Clint and it always frustrated her, but overtime she'd learned to just ignore them – the erroneous opinion of others didn't really matter. She still had an urge to bestow the naysayer with a punch or two to the face every time, but she'd gotten good at keeping her temper at bay when it came to those kinds of remarks.

But _that_ time, she'd been very on edge because of her situation with Clint. The combination of that, and the buildup of frustration at naysayers overtime, had caused her to snap. She had let the guy's negative comments get under her skin, and her response had been an almost cringeworthy overreaction.

Clint was still watching her, waiting for a reply, so she said, "Nothing really."

Clint gave her a look.

"Seriously, it was nothing," Natasha reiterated. "Wasn't a big deal." She got up and strode to the other side of the room, picking up her phone. Maybe if she fake-texted, Clint would drop the subject.

"Nat." Clint laughed incredulously. "It wasn't 'nothing'. This guy obviously really pissed you off."

"He _did_ really piss me off. But I just—I'd had a long day, so my reaction was a little, ah, extreme," Natasha said briskly, avoiding his gaze.

Clint was silent for a minute.

"Tell me," he said finally.

Natasha didn't reply. She was starting to consider giving him the details; the only reason why she was hesitating was because she felt slightly sheepish about the whole thing.

"Natasha?"

She sighed in resignation, setting down her phone.

"He was talking about you."

Clint paused. "Huh?"

"About _you,"_ she repeated, turning towards him. "You know, the kind of comments the media's always throwing around: Calling you a 'dumb arrow guy', saying you're not an asset to the Avengers', all that crap." She felt a flicker of irritation at the reminder, and she scowled.

Clint chuckled. "Nat. _You_ call me a 'dumb arrow guy'."

Natasha folded her arms and glared at him. "It's different when other people say it."

Then she exhaled and shrugged. "Anyway. The point is, it ticked me off, like it always does, but I was kind of stressed so I lost my temper. And, I don't just mean I was yelling at him, because he would have deserved all that. I actually…" She hesitated.

"'Dragged him outside'?" Clint quoted.

She nodded. "I overreacted. I mean, I had a right to get angry, definitely. But... I think it would've been better if I hadn't laid into him so much. I took it too far, and it was… immature."

Clint was quiet for a moment, thinking.

Then he said, "So, let me get this straight. You go on a date with some stranger, he trash-talks me a little, you verbally abuse him and come half a point shy of beating him into the ground?"

Natasha smiled ruefully. "Kind of intense, huh?"

Clint bobbed his head. "Kind of intense," he agreed. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Also kind of flattering."

Natasha laughed awkwardly and looked away.

"No, I'm not teasing you, Firefly," Clint said. "Do you really like me all that much?"

She looked at him sharply. "Of course I do, stupid. I like you more than anyone I've ever met."

Clint's face softened. He got to his feet and approached her, and then he was pulling her into a hug.

Natasha's arms immediately went around his neck, and she closed her eyes, burying her face in his shoulder.

"Me too," Clint said quietly.

Natasha smiled. "You may be a dumb arrow guy," she said. " _No ty moy tupoy paren' strela." But you're my dumb arrow guy._

Suddenly Clint stiffened. He drew back, holding her at arm's length with a strange expression on his face.

"Say that again."

Natasha frowned, puzzled. " _Ty moy tupoy paren' strela…?"_

Clint looked at her for a minute.

"Strela," he repeated.

 _Dammit._

Clint murmured the phrase to himself again. Then, a slow smile spread across his face. He looked down at her, merriment playing in his blue-gray eyes.

"Natasha Romanoff. Did you name your cat after me?"

Natasha squinted. "Well… not _technically…"_

"Ohoho, I think you DID technically." Clint was grinning jubilantly at her. "The secret's out!" He laughed. "Or, you might say, the _cat's_ out of the bag!"

Natasha hit him on the shoulder, grinning. "You are such a dork."

"But you know you love me," Clint said cheekily.

"Shut up." Natasha leaned up and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth. She took him by the arm, tugging him back toward the couch.

"Wha—where are we going?" he laughed.

Natasha faced him, smiling diffidently. "We need to finish our nap."

Clint smiled fondly down at her. "Okay."

Natasha reclaimed her spot on the couch, and Clint lay down next to her, wrapping his strong arms around her. She relaxed and pressed her face into his chest, breathing him in. One of his hands stroked through her hair and she exhaled, already starting to feel drowsy.

"Love you," she murmured, her free arm dropping over his side.

He pressed his lips to her hair.

"Love you, Tasha." His voice rumbled through his torso. Natasha closed her eyes.

And they both fell into warm quiet, completely contented, resting peacefully in their shared love.

* * *

 **This chapter was written with two very special people in mind. First of all, Big fan, who asked for a scene where Natasha tells Clint about her 'date'. Thanks for the request, and thank you so very much for the reviews - there was something about them that just really touched me, so I'm very happy that you took the time to comment. :) Secondly, for Ravenpuff Nerd, who asked for Clint realizing that strela was Russian for arrow. Doll, as previously established, you are my number one bae, and I just... words like 'awesome' and 'fantastic' and 'amazing' are just so weak compared to how much I actually enjoyed getting to know you, it would almost be insulting to apply them here. So I'm just going to give you some pretty symbols in the hopes that they can communicate better than the English language: ~ &_^-^_(:_382,?{}| (Yeah that looks pathetic. Whatever. I love you.)**

 **THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU EVERYONE. Wow, who knew I could get so emotional about posting fanfiction? :P But truthfully, this has been a spectacular experience. I'm really going to miss you guys, I hope I see some of you again on my future stories! Keep being awesome, keep loving Marvel, keep supporting the good ship Clintasha, and take care of yourselves because you're important to me. :)**

 **-Talia**


End file.
